


A Court of Nothing and Everything

by just_Lu



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, healing a broken heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28981053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_Lu/pseuds/just_Lu
Summary: After all that mess with the Cauldron, Prythian has to rebuild and learn again how to live. That applies to Tamlin, and this fic is about him. But life is a surprising mess, and sometimes you have to multitask, as in healing yourself and helping save the day.
Relationships: Tamlin (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

For fifty years my court has suffered because of some insane, sick attraction Amarantha had for me. This unreasonable fascination cost many lives, I had tried to stop my court members to go on suicidal missions to have a girl brought to us and our salvation. Constantly I argued with Lucien about giving myself up to Amarantha, but he would insist that it was not an option to just give up. Not when we didn’t know what she would do with Spring Court afterwards.

The pain and grief were digging an enormous hole in my chest, desperate to save my court, afraid what would happen to all Prythian once Amarantha had me, I could not possibly believe that I would truly fall in love with our human savior. Feyre. Just thinking her name tears me apart. I loved her for simply existing, then I loved her for who she was. My delicate Feyre, brave human with fierce eyes, but still delicate. Terrified of what Amarantha could do with her scary passion for torture, I tried to let Feyre go, but she came back. Feyre loved me, and came back for me!

I am no gentleman. Raised to be a warrior, I was made to kill. A famish beast, not a man. How Feyre saw my heart and fell in love with me is a mystery, though her beautiful heart made me love her even more. So when Amarantha took Feyre’s life, the little good that Feyre saw in me died altogether. Once it was all through and done, Feyre was back in my arms, warm skin but cold eyes.

Feyre was sick. But I thought... Every night we had nightmares, she would throw up and I would keep guarding our bedroom, sweating in fear. I thought we knew what was going on, I thought we were suffering – reasonably suffering –, but we were together. We had each other. We were going to overcome that fear, we just needed time. And I needed her. It is not like Feyre ever extended her hand to me. She was getting worse, I was trying to build my court back, to deal with every headache that I was not raised to deal with. I just wanted the assurance that Feyre was safe, that my nightmares wouldn’t become real. I loved her, I was grateful for her love being so strong, enough to save Prythian. My beautiful Feyre... I loved her.

A beast does not know how to love. Guard, protect, yes, but every gesture of affection comes out wrong. I know I was wrong, I hate myself for making Feyre fear me. Her love was gone, Feyre decided that instead of talking to me, she’d rather talk to Rhysand. I know, I know she fought for me before, and that is why Prythian was momentary safe. But she hurt me. Feyre left me. I was sick too. I spent too many years suffering. I needed her as well. Feyre left me. I am a monster, my thoughts consuming me, taking the air away from my lungs. A constant battle, where I want to just cease to exist, ashamed for what I had put Feyre through, and on the other hand, in pieces for being left behind. Sadness and hatred. Feyre chose Rhysand.

As the fates like to have fun, Feyre and Rhysand are mates. Of course they are. He made her a High Lady, gave her a life. Everyone is scared of the High Lord of the Night Court, they call him cruel and disgusting. The Whore. But even Rhysand had to do what he could to protect who he loved. I will never admit that I admire Rhysand. Nevertheless, I still hate him. So as the coward that I am, without an heir to pass on my burden, here I stand in my empty court. Feyre managed to turn everyone against me, smart girl. I sit by the dinning table, staring at nothing. I’ve destroyed most of the manor with my rage, I’ve destroyed everything.

Feyre. Feyre was right to leave me. Feyre left me, and I still love her. Everyone left me. Feyre. She hurt me. I was not enough, she doesn’t need me, she doesn’t love me. It hurts, Feyre. It hurts that you are not here. I’ve spent years without you, hundreds of those. How did I? How is life without your love, Feyre? How do I breathe without your scent? I love you, I do. I miss you. Oh, Feyre, I am so sorry that I scared you, that I’ve hurt you. At least you are alive, at least you are happy now. You broke me, I was mean, I was terrible, and I am sorry. I did what I did because I loved you, I needed you. There is no rage, no hatred, no nothing but hurt and my love for you. I do Feyre, I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A song: Lewis Capaldi - Someone you loved


	2. Chapter 2

Laying on the grass, staring at the night sky, and just that. Have I been here for more than a day? I don’t know. I do feel a bit hungry, but thinking about going after food tires me. I feel someone winnowing. It started with a few brave ones, trying to pass trough the Spring Court to the human side. I used to hunt them alone, until kind Rhysand offered to let the illyrians soldiers guard the wall. Needless to say that I refused, but when it got harder to guard the limits of my terrain, I agreed to let the Summer Court help me.

“By the Cauldron, Tamlin, I almost stepped on you!” Lucien exclaims a mixture of startle and anger. It surprises me that he tries still. That he comes to me. He has hurt me as well, my friend. Turned his back on me. Although I know that I’ve hurt him, we’ve sorted this out already. Still, I didn’t think Lucien would come to me willingly with such frequency.

Looking at him, firstly I suspect his intention about visiting me. The suspicion is replaced by tiredness, since the last time he was here it was to try to get me to do anything, as I only do nothing or patrols around Spring Court. There are no in between.

“So, what are you doing?” Lucien asks. His glamoured eye fixed on me as his good eye is, trying to read me.

“Star gazing,” I tell him.

“You stink,” he points out. “And you have sun burnt. How long have you been here?”

“Who came with you?” I ask, instead of continuing this useless conversation. Lucien averts his eyes, sighs, and takes a long look at the manor. He is judging me, and I can’t care less.

“Azriel. He was at the Summer Court, recruiting more soldiers to come here to the Spring Court. They’ve raised a camp not far from here, and I’ve took the chance to come along, to see you.” I nod, then turn my gaze back to the stars. Lucien sighs louder, dramatically. “Take a bath, come talk to the soldiers, talk to Azriel, hear the reports.”

“Tomorrow, I don’t want to go right now.”

“Fine, tomorrow we go, then. But you go now clean yourself up, while I find something for our dinner.” Lucien starts kicking me on the side, and doesn’t care about my warning growl. “You stink, Tamlin! Rise and shine, man. Go on, I know a lot of ways to annoy you. You know that I do.”

Yes, he does. One more growl to point out my discomfort, and I am up. After a cold bath in my destroyed bath chamber, I find Lucien sitting by the table in the dinning room. I know he wants to complain about everything that I’ve destroyed, and about the dirt kitchen, so it surprises me that Lucien keeps himself to only talk about the world outside. How is Jurian with the humans, how they are trying to reestablish themselves. Lucien gossips about the other courts, how everyone is moving on. It is not like I don’t understand what he is implying, I simply have no will whatsoever about this story of moving on. I did. I am not fighting Rhysand and his Court. I accepted that I am alone. It seems that it is not enough. Nothing new, is it not right? Tamlin – not enough.

As Lucien doesn’t talk about Feyre, he also lets aside anything related to his mate. I don’t ask, but I know that he has tried to approach the girl more than once or twice. Feyre’s sisters were never to my liking, and Lucien knows it. He used to agree about this matter, about how those humans females were not trustworthy, that they didn’t show love to Feyre. Am I any way like them? No, I am another class of despicable being.

Later night, after Lucien’s attempts to humor me, we retreat. He goes back to his old chambers, and I walk around the manor, stopping by the library. I am not aware if I am using glamour, but the place starts looking as it did before Feyre left me. Including her presence, there by a table with a pile of books, trying her best to learn by herself how to read. Charming, even with that frown. She bites her bottom lip, and I remember how it felt to kiss her. And that breaks the spell, because Feyre’s lips are molding someone else’s lips, far from here, in a new home. The rage takes control in my chest, suffocating me. Once I take notice, I am shattering more of the library. Again.

Waking up to the sound of Lucien complaining takes me back in time, I laugh and look to my side to see if Feyre is already up and laughing with me. The bed is empty, the room is trashed. Feyre doesn’t love me. “Do you have to make me come in to wake you up?” Lucien knocks at my door again. “The eggs are going to taste bad if we don’t eat now. Tamlin, I swear I –”

“I am up,” I interrupt him opening the door. Lucien appraises me silently for a moment, then we get to eat.

Lucien is a friend that I don’t deserve. In the middle of the chaos inside me, this infuriating male has managed to build a safe place, one that makes me want to laugh again. I miss him by my side as well, our routine. It is true that I’ve pushed him away, and he is here, trying to keep our bond. I am tired of hating and being sad, so Lucien’s kindness is messing up with me. I am tempted to do something, so even when Lucien goes back to what he does with Jurian, that Lucien surely will know that I’ll be waiting for him, here. That I want our friendship as much as he does. I am just broken. But for this male, for Lucien, I am starting to feel selfish enough to want his friendship.

The camp of Summer soldiers is strong. We’ve had lots of cases of all kinds of creatures wandering the Spring Court, so Tarquin is doing a nice job to help me defend Prythian’s borders. I fear that these creatures are going to start passing through the wall, to the human side, and raise problems that might instigate animosity again. Lucien introduces me to the commander of this camp, Jorum, inside a big tent, and they tell me reports. The kind of creatures appearing are getting stronger, and no one knows where they come from. Apparently, the weaker kinds are starting to appear at other courts as well. They have more trouble at the Winter Court, not used to the weather.

“The way it looks, it is as if someone is summoning them,” I think aloud. As I realize it, I look at the commander. “You said there are stronger creatures appearing, but are those natural from Prythian?”

“Are you suggesting that they could be from somewhere else? Like Hybern?” Lucien asks me.

“Their king is dead,” Jorum reminds us. “And to answer Tamlin’s question, yes, the creatures are all from Prythian. However, you have a good line of thinking. It can be that someone is summoning them. Perhaps someone exploring our weaknesses, so soon after the war. There is always some fucker out there after more power, we still live around those who supported Amarantha’s ideas...”

“We could reunite with all the High Lords and High Lady to discuss the possibility. Perhaps seal a treaty,” Lucien suggests, looking at me.

“I have no desire to reunite,” I grunt. “But commander Jorum can send word to Tarquin. If there is a summoner, we have to find them. Though I might be wrong, and we have to further investigate this. Let’s try to register the places the creatures appear, if there is a pattern. The frequency, the kind of creatures. Perhaps if we find a pattern, we can track from where they are coming. We might be facing something more magical, instead of another enemy trying to conquer us.”

“As a curse?” Jorum asks me.

“As a sickness,” I slowly pace around the tent, not looking at anything in particular. “I used to tell Feyre that what happened to the Spring Court was some kind of magical sickness to Prythian, and I didn’t take the idea out of nowhere. There are old books that speak of such things, when the Earth faces so much horror, it can become sick and ancients beings can awake. It could be a result from so many wars, so much blood share,” I sigh. “If you and your soldiers spot any being that is really strong, do not hesitate to call me.”

My mission is to patrol, as I’ve been doing, until I exhaust myself. That is, it takes three days for me to come back to the manor. I find Lucien sitting on a broken couch in the living room, reading a heavy book. Immediately he sends me to bathe while he prepares us food, and as we eat, Lucien asks me about what I found.

“No pattern, just random creatures at random places.”

At the following morning, Lucien makes me return to the Summer camp before I start my patrolling again. We use a big map to mark the places where we found the creatures, then I listen to their reports. Tarquin is doing the same, trying to find a pattern, but he chose not to share the idea, so that if there is a summoner, they don’t start to change what they are doing, and we can catch whoever it is. Tarquin only shared with Rhysand and Feyre, because of their friendship.

I feel someone winnowing, and recognize him. A few moments after, Azriel enters the tent, nodding to everyone as a way of greeting. The spymaster of the Night Court is as mysterious as his court itself; somber and almost never revealing emotions on his face. Those shadows dancing around his head, telling him secrets that I doubt anyone gets to know, unless the male wishes to share the information. 

“Lucien, we need you at the other side of the wall,” Azriel tells my friend. Right, he is working for the Night Court, sometimes I forget it.

Lucien looks at me, a mixture of guilty and hope that I could understand. “I can accompany you there, then I will start my patrol,” I say. Surprise flashes Lucien’s eyes before he agrees, and we are gone.

“Be sure to return to the camp every so often,” Lucien places a hand on my shoulder. “It is important that you learn what the others have discovered, so you can find out what the bloody cauldron is happening!” He arches a brow, smiles with mischief. “And please my friend, take a bath as often as you can, so you don’t stink anymore!”

“You are demanding too much, Lucien,” I say with a weak smile that surprises him. Taking a step back, I change my appearance to the beast that I am. We stare at each other. I did this, I made our friendship awkward. “Thank you,” I tell him. Lucien looks as if he is going to cry, but he holds it in, and nods. Then I am gone to do my patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song: Damien Rice - Cannonball


	3. Chapter 3

There are still a few villages in the Spring Court, rebuilding after war. When I visit to see if they are being attacked or anything, I can feel their eyes on me. When I was pretending to be on the King of Hybern’s side, my people hated me. Then, they have learned the truth, and they pitied me. We are now trying to know each other again. Can they trust me to protect them? Can they count on me to keep the evil away and the food near? The taxes are off once again. I remember Feyre’s anger at me for charging the people, for asking for things that they couldn’t pay. Since I was doing what I saw my parents do, I didn’t question my actions, I only wanted for everything go back to what it was before Amarantha. With the additional of a bride by my side. Sometimes I go over my actions and question myself, what I should have done differently. A warrior was not made to govern people, to protect yes, but politics? Lucien helped me a lot, and I relied on the wrong people besides him, such as Ianthe. Now in the silence of my court I can think.

I spend some days in the villages, helping out with what I can. Building their homes, cropping, planting, hunting for food and for protection, then I leave. As the weeks come and go, and the only thing that is strange around here is the amount of creatures surging, I am more convinced that it is no disease of the Earth, but someone’s doing. I am patrolling the west of the Spring Court when I hear screams and change my path. I find a trail of dead Summer soldiers and then I find a trio crouched behind a big rock, shaking violently with fear. As they spot me, the female uses both her hands to cover the males’ mouths so they don’t scream again. She mouths to me “The bogge!” and I am surprised to see they alive.

The bogge is a difficult creature. He merges with the air, whispering with the wind, until you realize that you are hearing actual words. Threatening words. The bogge grows stronger with your fear, and once you look at it, it becomes real. It is there, and it wants to eat you. The bogge can change it’s appearance according with it’s victims, it likes to be scary. Fear is a good seasoning. So I am not surprised to see the version of my shift-shaped father. It’s color is mostly black, with shades of grey, but only because that’s the color of the bogge.

It is bigger than I am, because that is how I always saw my father. He is growling and salivating, his fangs exposed, his eyes cruel. It is my violent version, only worse, because I feared my father. The bogge attacks me, but I stand my ground. It is all claws and bites, but the faerie is tricky. It shapes more claws, it grows bigger and heavier, it talks to me of disappointment and how tasty I could be. It doesn’t know, though, how dead inside I am. I can feel fear, but it is not dreadful. I feel the pain of it’s claws ripping my skin, but I know the true ache, so I can bear it. Then I pay back. I bite, and discount my rage on it. I hate, I hate, I hate, I am lonely and this is true hurt. _Come to me, bogge, and know your end._

The mass spread on the ground is what is left of the bogge, with no shape, mixed with it’s black blood. I pick up the dead soldiers bodies and approach the scared trio. One of the males has peed himself. The female is looking at me as if measuring me, recognizing my strength. They are covered in blood. The dead bodies on my back are bothering me, heavy not because of their weight, but because death is heavy to carry.

“Touch my shoulders, I will winnow us all to one of the Summer camps.” I order them, and without word, they obey.

A second later we are back to the west camp, the male who peed himself is retching, the other two are looking around. Soldiers approach us, and after the dead are taken from my back, I winnow away, back to the manor, tired. My injuries heal by themselves in slow progress, so slow that I pass out. I wake up to the sound of voices. Someone has cleaned me, and took care of my wounds. I feel the worst cuts still terribly throbbing with pain on my back and left arm; they are bandaged. It is my bed chamber, I’m on my bed, and I open my eyes to see Azriel and a Summer soldier talking. It is the female that was attacked by the bogge, one of the survivors.

“There are a lot of rooms, Az,” the female is saying. “He won’t even notice if we are gone for a moment... We could be quick, and I promise to be quiet.”

What the fuck they are talking about?

“You know I don’t like quickies,” Azriel answers, looking down at her with his chin up, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I am sure I am hallucinating.

“You are playing hard to get,” she smiles openly. “Do not complain if I show up in your tent late night to make you true to your word of being so... thorough.”

Azriel gives her a husk laughter, and I can’t help but groan with disgust. They both look at me and approach my bed with concern on their faces.

“It has been two days since we found you passed out on the floor, swimming in your own blood,” Azriel informs me. “Layla said you winnowed out of the camp without being checked out, and you were terribly bleeding.”

“I am alive, you can leave now.” I sit, and the female gives me a wooden cup of water.

She is wearing her uniform, but now there is no blood and no panic. She has olive skin, black hair in a long braid, and light brown eyes. Azriel is out of his mind playing hard to get with a beautiful woman.

“From your wounds, you should have died, Tamlin,” Azriel looks at me as if I were to die at any moment now. “Even with us here to help you, I thought you would not make it.”

“I am sorry to disappoint, maybe next time,” I drink the water. “Seriously, you can leave now. I heard you two, you can take a detour...” Azriel is horrified that he was caught, blushing to the tips of his ears. It looks like the spymaster is a common male after all.

“Or we can stay and once you heal, Tamlin, we can all have fun!” Layla suggests, smirking at me, daring me a reaction. She is amused. The High Lord of the Spring Court amuses a female soldier, and I don’t know why. I just saved her life from the bogge, and I think she saved my life in return, by coming here to check on me.

They settle in the manor, Azriel wants to make sure my wounds won’t open again for at least two more days. Our interactions are sparse, I almost feel by myself. At the end of the second day, I insist on going to Jorum’s camp with them so I can hear the newest reports. Apparently there is a trail of lesser faeries on the north, but they don’t know if the creatures are trying to advance at the Winter Court, or if they are trying to invade the Dawn Court. Azriel points out to a red mark on the map.

“Another bogger made a mess in the Summer Court,” Jorum informs us. “A couple of days before the one Tamlin dealt with here. That one is still alive, it killed everyone who approached it, then vanished; we don’t know where to.”

Suddenly a rush of feeling protective overtakes me. Most of my people have ran to the Summer Court seeking their safety. If the soldiers can’t find and kill the bogge, the faerie will grow bigger and stronger than the one I have faced. It might kill hundreds. “Why didn’t Tarquin faced the bogge?” I ask impatient.

“He is new to this,” Arziel reminds me. “He has never faced a faerie like this, so his council is hesitating to let him try, afraid Tarquin might be killed.”

“I suppose Rhysand is too busy to help Tarquin,” I say sarcastically. Were they not friends? Must the people suffer because Tarquin is new?

“My High Lord is, indeed, busy.” Azriel narrows his eyes to me. “But perhaps I can go there, track the bogge myself.”

“You are going to get yourself killed!” Layla censures him. I didn’t realize she followed us into the tent. “But perhaps we can bait the bogge, bring it to the Spring Court, so Tamlin can kill it.”

“He is in no condition to fight another bogge, Layla.” Azriel retorts.

She is willing to let me get killed and not Azriel. Why does it bother me?

“Not alone,” Jorum nods. “If we can bring the bogge to Tamlin, we can ambush it. The one that killed Summer soldiers was not expected, but if we do have a plan, we can catch it with Tamlin. Azriel can help as well.”

And we have a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG: Pearl Jam - Black
> 
> *these songs are just Tamlin's mood. I've been listening to them to have some inspiration on his POV.   
> Thank you for reading! Please, leave me your thoughts, I love reading comments ;)


	4. Chapter 4

It takes a couple of days to Azriel come back reporting that he found the bogge, and the plan takes action. I am healed, ready for more ugly wounds to be open. If it works, I can rest another day knowing that my people are still safe. We gather a great group at the limits of the Spring Court with the Summer Court, and as Jorum is checking all their positions, I look at Layla heavy breathing with her back against a tree.

“You can go back,” I tell her. “You saw it once, no need to face it again.”

“I saw it more than once,” Layla meets my eyes, as if she wishes that I read something more into those words. Though I can’t figure it out, I nod in return. If someone survives more than one bogge attack, it is not just lucky, I think. However, I don’t have time to ask for more, our guest is here.

The bogge knows it is a trap, even then, he enters our circle anyways. It is huge. Azriel is nowhere to be seen; he was supposed to bring the bogge here. I watch soldiers have their bodies torn apart, covering everything in blood. It assumes different forms, changing to what can terrorize more of us at once. I spot Jorum with an ash arrow ready, and it hits, but it is not enough. The bogge turns to her, and I attack its back. Its blood tastes awful, and I don’t let go. There are more screams, I struggle to rip the bogge, stealing its attention to me. I use my claws and the creature shift shapes into my fear again. It talks about Feyre, it talks how she hates me and how I deserve it. The bogge is gigantic, deformed as it takes the better form to torment me, as if it knows my heart well enough. Its cold voice changes to Feyre’s screams of fear, she is afraid of me as I am thrown against a few trees, breaking their trunks on my wake.

I am desperate, I can’t kill something that looks like her, like this. Walking towards her, she tells me that I’ve locked her away, that I didn’t love her, I just wanted to own her. “I love you,” I repeat. “I love you!” She deforms and my father’s claw cuts my face, so I attack again. She is back screaming. I hold bogge-Feyre in my arms, changing to my male form. She claws my back, yells at me.

“I am going to leave you, Tamlin! I HATE YOU!”

“Feyre, please!” I beg, and beg.

An excruciating scream cuts me, the bogge is now a deformed Feyre with claws, getting bigger by the second. Holding back my tears, I am punched and thrown and cut. Listening to bogge-Feyre-deformed talk about how Rhysand is better than me, how he is the strongest High Lord, how he makes her happy, how he satisfies her. My sorrow brings froth my wrath, and suddenly I am the very beast that bogge-Feyre is telling me that I am. And I rip her apart. The bogge's gray mass loses Feyre deformed shape, its torn pieces melting all over the place. Panting, growling, I look around ready to keep fighting, to keep killing. The few soldiers, including Jorum, are looking at me with fear; I killed the bogge that were killing people, but I did it like the beast that I am. Layla stares at me. “You have a lot of strong fears,” she declares with a shaking voice.

“You are lucky it wasn’t Amarantha's form that the bogge assumed,” I answer after a moment, weary.

Around us the soldiers start gathering the wounded. Most of the dead are just pieces of bodies.

“Azriel, we have to find him!” Layla tries to sound solemn. “Please.”

She is clearly shaken up by what she saw me doing, but she is willing to go beyond her fear because she worries about another man. Layla must be very fond of Azriel, and I envy him, because I lost the one who were willing to go through terrifying things to save me. I nod, allowing the female to ride my back, and we are gone. My face aches against the wind, all my wounds do. My muscles hurt from being tense, and I keep recalling bogge-Feyre screaming that she hates me. Layla pulls my antlers, bringing me to a halt. “Azriel!” she gets down from me and runs to the fallen illyrian, bloodied.

We are in the Summer Court, and my vision is getting blurred. I try to talk, but my mouth feels numb. The world is spinning, I feel heavy, why am I eating grass?

.

.

.

I don’t recognize this room. The sunlight illuminates the place, a cool breeze coming through the open balcony waves the white curtains, the beach scent arriving along. This I recognize, the scent of Summer Court. I use the bath chamber, once clean and done, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. A nasty scar goes through my left brow, and I recall the bogge’s claw doing it to me, making me flinch. There are people entering the bed chamber, so I return to meet them. They are servants, and they explain to me that Layla had ran to find help in the Summer Court because both Azriel and I were passed out.

Asking me if I need anything, how are my wounds, the servants leave a tray of food, telling me that as soon as possible their High Lord is coming to see me. Barely a couple of seconds after the door is closed at their leave, it abruptly opens again. Layla comes running to me, involving me in her arms. “Thank the Mother you are okay, Tamlin!” She starts squeezing me, inspecting my body for any nasty wound. The worry written in her face amuses me, and suddenly I am chuckling.

“I am fine, Layla!” I tell her. She locks gaze with me, a strange purple color takes her eyes, a glittering light, then I blink and it is gone. Layla cups my cheek with a hand, it surprises me so much that I take a shaken inhale. Then her seriousness is gone.

“Fuck, you manage to be even more handsome with a scar!” Layla takes a step back, shaking her head as if she is annoyed. “So, how are you feeling? You had lots of broken bones, lost lots of blood, nearly died _again_. How can you be standing and saying that you are fine? Azriel still didn’t wake.”

“Azriel must’ve faced that bogge by himself, his wounds were worse than mine,” I sit by the bed’s edge and she sits beside me. “He is strong, he will recover.” Looking in her eyes, Layla doesn't seem scared. Her olive skin has its color back with life, instead of the pale I had faced once I finished the bogge. 

Layla’s eyes are still concerned. “Yes, he will.” She lays on the bed, facing the ceiling. “You have more than these wounds to heal, don’t you? You are torturing yourself about scaring a woman, you know.”

“You were afraid of me as well. And for the record, I think you should stick to your business.” I retort, looking away from her, to the clean sky that I can see through the open balcony.

“Tamlin.”

I sigh.

“Tamlin.”

“Hm?” I still don’t look at her.

“Your heart is broken, I understand that. I’ve heard what happened, and I heard what the bogge was saying while in _her_ form. But you are High Lord, Tamlin. You went there in the first place because you were doing what you could to protect your court. You are here in the Summer Court where a good part of your people is hiding... There was a life before Feyre, there was a life you kept even with her by your side, that is, the life of a High Lord.” Layla sits up again, I feel her eyes on me, though I still stare at the sky. “There is no need to forget Feyre, to forget your pain and pretend it never happened. But _there is_ a need to take back what you are, to own your title. I know you want your people back, so take them!”

“You do not know me, soldier.”

With that, Layla leaves me. I don’t know if I am angry at her, at myself, or what. Those words were true, though I hardly believe I can simply offer my people to come back to the Spring Court. That is the court that have been most attacked, so without their homes, without food, it is like we are back to Amarantha’s times. Worse even, since back then my people used to trust me.

Tarquin finds me and invites me for a walk. He tells me that he received reports of his commanders over the Spring Court that there was no more faerie as strong as the bogges, the villages are being secured. The other courts were also suffering with boggers appearing, and I find it extremely strange, since these creatures were not very recurrent. The Day Court was asking reinforcements, that the Night Court was providing. “So there is no place safe in Prythian,” Tarquin concludes. “I was interested in your theory about a sickness, Tamlin, so I took the liberty to investigate more on this matter. I found a many variety of horrible situations that I had never heard of, but nothing that only the appearance of more faeries was the only sign.”

“It could be something new, we might be experiencing a whole new scenario,” I speculate. “New as you are.”

“As exciting as it could be to have all the old High Lords face something new and not rub it to my face that they have been there before,” Tarquin gives me a long side look, “I am more inclined to believe that this is someone’s doing. Perhaps it is a... Worry, given from our traumas of constant war, but still...”

“And your suggestion?”

“Investigate. Rhysand has already sent Lucien to try and discover anything with the other side of the wall, and we are waiting to hear from Drakon about the lands from afar, to see if there is a new enemy as the last King of Hybern. Azriel was at the Winter Court before he went to the Spring. We are trying to fix this puzzle.” We take a stop by a balcony, and face each other. Tarquin is new, but he is serious. More than I have been lately. I can see his determination, I know he is a good man.

“So?”

“So,” Tarquin takes a deep breath. “I want to have word with all the High Lords, but I wanted to have a peaceful gathering. More than that, I wanted to form alliances. I do not trust some of the High Lords, though, so to create a good environment, I am hosting a party in two weeks from now, in which every High Lord and High Lady is invited, including you.”

“We are being attacked and you want to party.” I feel amused.

“I want to find out who is my enemy, without them knowing that I found them. I have to be subtle. I can’t barge in their homes, asking questions and expect to be welcomed, I have to play their game. And we have to remember that the enemy can be from outside Prythian. If that is the case, we need to unite, before we have something like the Amarantha episode again.”

“You want me at this party. Why?” I appraise him, there is more that he wants to ask of me, I am sure of it.

“Just to show that you are a friend, that we are on the same side.” Tarquin answers. “Before you decide, sleep on it.”

“Sure...” I reply carefully. “I will send word to you.”

“Yes, about you leaving...” Tarquin looks around us, but his guard is not within reach for our conversation. “You see, I have sent reinforcements to you, to help patrol the Spring Court.”

“Are you going to demand something in return? Even if it was more like you and Rhysand forced me to accept you generous offer?” That is what he was all secretive about, not about the allegiance or safety of Prythian. “Ask then, humor me.”

Tarquin scowls at me, but then thinks better. It looks like a difficult request, as if he actually doesn’t want to ask me. I am intrigued. He says, “yes, I want to ask something of you, related with the protection of our courts. I...” Tarquin looks away, then back to me, regaining his confidence. “I want you to train me to fight faeries like the bogge.”

“Say what?” I am startled.

“The bogge. I am strong, I have powers, I am a High Lord, but since I am new, my council denied my attempts to fight the bogge myself.” Tarquin maintains his decided eyes, firm on mine. “You are the only one I can ask such a thing, Tamlin. I want to be able to help my people, I want them to count on me, no matter what. So, in between these two weeks before the party, I am asking for you to train me. After the party, you can return to the Spring Court, and I will have the basic notions of a true fight with something scary.”

“You mean I am as scary as the bogge.”

“You can be, sometimes, really mean. And scary.” Tarquin nods to his own affirmation.

“I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG: Matt Maeson - Cringe


	5. Chapter 5

My roar makes the trees shake, the leaves fly away, the animals around run, and Tarquin shrinks. It is the second day of this nonsense, me in my beast form, training Tarquin in an isolated place. There is only the two of us. Of course he has not told his council of this idea of his. “It is fine to recoil at my roar, Tarquin, but do avoid keeping your eyes closed for so long. You have to see where your enemy is, even if he looks like your scariest fear!” I growl at him, and Tarquin nods.

We spar for a couple of hours, even though I avoid going for his face and actually hitting him, Tarquin still bears bruises that are going to be difficult to explain once we are back. He managed to hit me once, but it was like tickles. The man is brave with words, but he fails in combat skills. We have lunch together, receive reports of the faerie attacks, then I have the afternoon to do what I please. Only I have to be followed by a guard, no other than Layla, who volunteered for this task.

Walking down the market, a lady bumps into me and all her food fall to the ground. Layla and I help the lady catch it all, giving it back to her basket. The lady turns to me, laughing at the disaster. “Oh, I am so sorry!” she says, recovering some fruit, “I was distracted, I didn’t see you-” she cuts her words as she looks at me. My heart squeezes strangely, with remorse and fondness. “Lord Tamlin!” it comes out as a whisper.

“Alis.” I whisper back. She used to work at the manor, she also took care of Feyre’s needs. I help her rise, and we stare at each other. “How are you? Your family?”

“Good, good. How are you?” she asks back.

“Fine. Helping Tarquin with... Some affairs.”

“We heard you are attending the High Lord Tarquin’s party in a couple of weeks.” Alis’ eyes are shining, as if she is happy to see me. It brings forth emotions in me that I am not ready to face. Guilty. I have abandoned my people, including her. “Some of us were curious to know how you are doing.”

“I am...” I have no words. I just stare at her, missing her and all the people who lived with me.

“He is staying here in the Summer Court until then.” Layla informs with a grin. “Perhaps you folks from the Spring Court can manage a gathering, a reunion of some sort.”

“That would be wonderful,” Alis starts, then looks at me, “if Lord Tamlin agrees, of course.”

“Of course he agrees!” Layla answers for me, since I still cannot produce words. “He will see his schedule with Lord Tarquin, and then he will send word to you and your folks. I am Layla, by the way. Alis, right? It was fancy meeting you!” Layla starts shoving me.

“It is nice seeing you, Alis.” I tell her, and she laughs again, and I find myself smiling at her. Layla stares at me as if she has never seen me.

“See you, then, Lord Tamlin!” Alis says, and walks away.

We reach the soldiers training base, and I have no idea how I walked over here, still feeling too much after seeing Alis again. She looked fine, healthy, happy. The fondness in her eyes was like all was forgiven, and I felt an urge to hug her, to tell that I miss everyone. Now a reunion with my people? Am I ready to see them? Absolutely not. They must hate me, they must feel disgusted by me. Alis's eyes were an exception, I know it.

“Tamlin!” Layla calls my name as if she has been doing so for a while.

“What?”

“You have not listened to me at all! Argh!” Se rolls her eyes. “Short version: you look like you are about to freak out. Do you want to spend some of this energy training with me?”

What is it with the Summer Court people having me train with them?

“Come with me.” Layla pulls me by my my wrist to a place with other soldiers, though she can only really move me because I am following her. It is a changing room, and their angry eyes are on Layla, not on me. “Gerard, can you find something that fits him?” Layla asks a male who looks older than me, broader shoulders, lots of scars. He scrutinizes me from head to toes.

“Sure thing, sweetheart, but you better get the fuck out of here before anyone complains to the commander that you are in the male's changing room.”

She smirks and leaves me behind on my own. Gerard gives me a change of clothes: comfortable dark gray cotton trousers, light gray loose shirt. Outside I find Layla waiting for me with equal clothing, and I take notice of her large hips and round ass. Layla’s bust is small, and I shake my head before I try to imagine what she looks like under these clothes. She takes me to an empty ring, we are both bare feet. Some soldiers look from me to Layla, smirks growing on their faces.

Layla hits me first. She is nothing like the frightened Tarquin. The soldiers clap their hands, make “oooh”; they think she can beat me, they think I am here to give them a laugh. They are wrong. I fight Layla, testing her strength, testing how much she can take, and she keeps up with me. Layla is fast, dodging me, feinting fists, and her legs are strong. Her kicks are heavy, I have to avoid her attempts to kick my face and my balls. Of course she is going for the balls, this little fucker.

The crowd are crazy around us, they are happy when Layla hits me, they are happy when I hit her. All of a sudden they get silent, and I take a couple of steps back, out from Layla’s reach, to see who is coming.

“I heard Tamlin was getting beaten, I came to see that! Woman, I am your fan,” says Cassian, clapping his hands to Layla. She smiles at him. “You know, I have a weakness to strong women.”

“Careful there,” I warn him. “Layla has propositioned to Azriel,” Cassian’s brows go up in surprise, “then she followed to include me.” All of a sudden I feel a twist in my insides, uncomfortable with witnessing Cassian and Layla smiling flirty at one another.

Then someone else comes in, and Cassian’s face changes to aversion momentarily, just to return to his amusement. I know her. Nesta, Feyre’s sister. She is using illyrian armor, staring at Layla as if she could make her afraid. I know why, I know Nesta is something else now. She has stolen something from the cauldron, her eyes are not just faerie. I feel in my guts she is dangerous, someone to treat carefully.

“Can you believe that both of them declined my offer?” Layla says. “I wonder what kind of man must I ask to have a fun time.” She clicks her tongue, getting down from the ring and approaching Cassian. The other soldiers understand that my sparring with Layla is over, and they start getting back to their own business.

“I am fond of fun times,” Cassian bites his lower lip, and I find myself walking to stay beside Layla. “I am Cassian. Commander of the illyrian force.” He shakes hands with Layla, they both enjoying the contact.

“Did you come to get Azriel?” I ask. “With Nesta?”

Cassian looks at me and shrugs. “I am training Nesta, she had some trouble a while ago and I took her as my responsibility.”

“Hello Nesta,” I greet her.

She scowls, without leaving her eyes from Layla’s face. Layla, of course, is not intimidated.

“Do you fancy me?” she asks, making Cassian bark a laughter. “You have beautiful eyes.”

“You...” Nesta frowns. “I don’t like you. You are... Wrong.”

Layla looks at me, as if asking for help, and I shake my head. Nesta is never nice. “Do you have any news?” I ask Cassian.

“No, nothing. Just came here to get Azriel back home. Are you attending Tarquin’s party?”

“I have not decided it yet. If I do, is there going to be a problem?” Cassian doesn’t like me. He is straightforward, doesn’t play games. He knows I am asking more if Feyre doesn’t want me here than if Rhysand won’t like me in the same place with her. Since they are mates, if Rhysand catches me watching Feyre, we are definitely going to fight, but Feyre's opinion is the only one that matters to me.

“It depends on you, doesn’t it? You are the one who has to behave, so there won’t be a problem. Rhysand doesn’t want a fight, Feyre doesn’t care about you,” the sudden sting takes everything in me to not wince, “as long as you don’t do anything stupid, no problem at all.”

“Excellent!” Layla beams. “I have to take Tamlin back now, but if you stay around,” she winks at Cassian, “we can catch up some _fun time_.”

Layla pulls me so we are back to the changing room, where I return to my clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song: Billie Eilish - when the party is over


	6. Chapter 6

It takes me a couple of days in deep thought to finally send word to Alis, asking if she could gather the people from Spring Court to have a gathering with me. I don’t want anything formal, Tarquin’s party idea seems more adequate of a good environment to ease the tension, at least this way looks less scary to me. Without fail, I have Layla guarding me, and I give her a credit for making her best to keep her mouth shut on the way to the gathering. It is in a village, houses were improvised to accommodate the immigrants, my people.

At arrival, I see food, drinks and some folks playing music by the fire they placed in the middle of the street. They recognize me, and I sheepishly greet them, walking further into this reunion. They don’t want to collect justifications, they don’t come to me with angry eyes starving for some kind of explanation. No, these people have the same longing eyes that Alis did. It is as if they already know all my excuses, understanding my broken mind. They talk to me as my family, asking how I am doing, how I have been.

As the hours go, we Exchange stories, old ones, new ones. Some are to make fun of each other, some make us cry. I can’t place a word to describe what I am feeling, but it is similar to feeling _home_. I am overwhelmed. Suddenly crying loud and asking for forgiveness, suddenly engulfed in many arms, many embraces. They are asking for my forgiveness as well, because they left me behind. I don’t deserve this, I don’t.

“Can we come back, Tamlin?” asks me Orlon, an old farmer. “Can we all return and rebuild the Spring Court?”

Just like that, the world is alive again. I am alive.

.

.

.

It is the last day of training with Tarquin. It is not like a couple of weeks can build him up against the bogge, but we did some improvement. Tonight is his great party, and I promised that I would stay as long as I could bear without losing my wit. I use Spring Court’s gown, shades of green matching my eyes, black boots going up to my calves, and even my old crown was brought to me, golden, molded into a wreath of spring's first flowers, crafted with emerald, sapphires and amethyst. My hair is tied low on my neck with a leather lace. It has been so long since I dressed up myself and looked this clean, shaved and not looking dead.

A knock at the door sounds as I am giving a knot to my leather bracelet. “Come in,” I say to the door, and Layla enters the chamber. My hand stops working. She looks stunning beautiful, wearing a strapless dark purple dress, with a slit up to her mid thigh. All her muscles exposed, her hair is loose, waves cascading over her right shoulder.

“Oh, now you are regretting declining my proposition,” she teases me. “I know, I know. You wanna a piece of me. You look fine yourself, mind I say.”

“So you are not to guard me tonight, but a guest at the party.” I assume, finding it difficult to stop gazing at her.

“I am still your guard, but Tarquin thought it would be less intimidating if I am disguised as a guest.” The mischief in her expression makes that glint of purple pass through her eyes for a second, and I wonder if that is an effect of her mood.

I offer my arm to her, and Layla takes it. “Let’s dream that Tarquin can make allies tonight.”

We drink and eat as if there is no worry in the world. No High Lord approaches me intentionally, and I avoid looking at Feyre, because I did when I arrived at the great hall, and my heart sunk. My beautiful Feyre, wearing Night Court’s gown. Black with beads of stars, exposing a lot of skin, wearing a crown of her own. It took Layla pulling me strongly to make me look away, and ever since, my mind and heart are a mess. I don’t know how long I can stay, but I am trying. Lucien would be proud of me for trying. I wonder when we will see each other again. He will be surprised to return and see the Spring Court back.

Tarquin includes me in a circle of small talk, which I don’t pay attention, and politely nod at times. They laugh and I try to smile. When someone asks me something, Layla pinches me discretely under my arm, and I answer as smooth as I can manage. Tarquin leaves for another circle of talk. Remembering why we are at this party, I ask the group what they know about the faerie attacks, but they only know how scared they are, and how they trust their High Lords. Layla and I walk away from this circle of courtiers and enter another, asking the same questions. I find no animosity, and start thinking that we possibly won’t find anyone to blame tonight. At least Tarquin can still make allies.

I spot Feyre again, she is dancing with Rhysand. He is talking in her ear, she is giggling. I clench my fist, hating, hurting. I need distraction, I need to take Feyre out of my mind before I claw my eyes out of my face myself.

“Layla,” I force a controlled voice, my mouth on the shell of her ear. “Ask me to fuck you. Now.”

She is not laughing. Not entertained. Layla faces me, eyes firm sustaining mine. There is no desire there, no mischief, no fun. “No,” she says.

“No? You have tried almost every day since we first met, and you choose now to not want me?”

“Precisely,” Layla still doesn’t smile. “When I fuck, Tamlin, is with someone who wants to fuck me. You don’t want to fuck me, you want to use me and think of her.”

A low growl escapes me, and with a deep take of breath, I manage to hold my anger in. “Fine.”

Now she smiles. “Not to fuck, but come with me. We can find another activity as a fun way to pass time.”

Layla takes me to a meadow, takes off her shoes and twists her hair into a high bun. “Let’s spar. Take off your boots,” she demands. When I don’t, she starts attacking me anyways.

More intense than before, stronger. How can she be this strong? The purple glint in her eyes intrigues me. Layla punches me in my face, and now I am in. We grunt in pain receiving each other’s hit and kick. I realize that I am aroused by this spar, and I have quite the feeling that Layla knows it. She smirks at me, rotating her body to give me a good kick, but I manage to hold her leg, hooking my arm around her knee, pulling her flush against me.

“You still don’t want to fuck?” I ask her.

“Naah,” Layla shakes her head. “You can shape-shift anyone, right?”

“Why? You want me to change you?”

“Just for fun,” Layla shrugs. Slowly, I release her leg.

“What do you want to be?”

He expression turns somber for a second as she whispers, “Free.” Then louder, “A wolf would do.”

Taking a few steps away from her, I watch as Layla transforms into a huge wolf, entirely black fur. She sniffs, licks her own nose, and looks at me, pleased. I change myself into my beast form, we lock eyes and I recognize the mischief in hers. Layla runs, as if running means freedom, and I follow. I think we might cross the whole Summer Court, and we do. We reach the Spring Court and keep running. I feel it, I feel free. Layla bumps into me, making me roll over the grass, then she runs from me again. I catch up with her, jumping, sparring with her in this new form. We reach the manor and Layla throws herself to the ground, exhausted. I lay beside her, returning us to the other form, our clothes are dirty, messy with a few rips.

“That was fun,” I confess. Layla glances at me, smiling fondly. I know she felt the freedom she asked for. She closes her eyes and is fast asleep, here in front of the manor, over the grass and under the night sky. Would Lucien complain if he saw us here? I highly doubt that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Aurora – I went too far


	7. Chapter 7

Day by day the Summer soldiers escorts a group of my people from the Summer Court back to the Spring Court. It feels like my heart will explode at some point, inflating with this foreign happiness. There is an occasional thought, wondering about me being allowed to feel happy at all, but as I help rebuild homes and the manor, help to rebuild the Spring Court, the intensity of this happiness washes away any dark thoughts, simply because there is no space to those. With my people back home, I feel more powerful, making my patrols easier. Besides, now I am getting my own guard back. I apologized to every one of them as soon as they come back, then we organized a great revel by the time that Spring Court started to look alive again.

The reform in the manor changed the place. It was not just a rebuild from what it once was, it was more of a new place at the same spot. We did it to look more like us, the actual folk of Spring Court, than to look like my ancestors formalities and coldness. All Feyre’s paintings are carefully locked away, in a chamber together with memories of my family. I decided, though, that all the other paintings that I didn’t care about deserved to be seen. Of course I had destroyed most of them during my rampages. So a citizen male came a day with a couple of his own painting, giving them to me and telling me it was a ‘thank you gift’. I hung the paintings of beautiful scenarios in our court by the manor’s entrance.

A woman came by and gave gifts as well, her own sculptures craved in wood. The beautiful assets were placed at different corridors, joined with pots another lady had made herself, filled with flowers that the children collected and thought it would give a good touch to the mansion. I had asked for forgiveness and received more than that. They were grateful that I went after them, they were grateful that I was trying to be their High Lord again. So at the revel, my only speech was to thank my people for giving me another chance, for being back. And I thanked the Summer soldiers for all their support. All could go well again. I suppose Lucien could even squeal at me, proud, happy. I hope he comes visit soon.

I listen to the new reports at commander Jorum’s camp. The amount of faeries attacking other courts is increasing, while in the Spring court remains the same. “I presume my court was an experiment, since it was less protected, with less people to see from where the creatures where coming from, they used my court to test their power. Now they know how to do it, and are testing at others courts,” I say.

Jorum nods, “It sounds plausible. I am afraid that at some point all Prythian will be infested with all these creatures at once. I am afraid if we don’t discover who or what is causing these faeries to come out of their holes soon, it will be too late.”

Walking out of the tent, I hear a commotion and look to see what it is. It seems that it is a group of soldiers from another camp arriving, and as soon as my eyes lock with Layla's, I feel my grin spreading. “Tamlin!” she shouts, and runs to me. Without any polite restrain, Layla jumps into my arms and I catch her, laughing. It has been a couple of weeks since we last saw each other. She had to go back to the Summer Court for some soldier business, so I missed the straightforwardness of hers. Even her scent – jasmine and daylight. “Are you going on patrol now?”

“Yes,” I let her on the ground and look at her, as if making sure that Layla is as I remember her. She is almost as tall as me, black hair made into her usual long braid, soldier’s gown, small chest, great hips, I can’t see her back right now, but I remember her round ass. She has strong lean muscles. Olive skin, her upper lip has slightly more meat than her bottom, a cute nose, thick black brows, and light brown eyes. Yes, just as I remember. The smirk as well.

“Let me go with you.” Layla asks, and I winnow us away. She looks around, we are near the wall. “Change me into a wolf.”

We patrol all the border of the wall, then the surroundings of the closest village. Three different creatures cross our path, and we take them down. The following week this is what I do in my patrols: I find Layla at the camp, change her into a wolf, and we do the patrol together. With so many creatures around, I am starting to worry about food. The animals are more scarce, and we are farming, but it takes time to grow food properly. I have myself to blame, for not have a Calanmai to honor Spring because I was pitying myself.

At a waterfall, Layla and I take a break from patrol, swimming naked and I am beginning to think of her as a good friend. I hope Lucien doesn’t feel jealous of it, but she makes me laugh, she saw me in my beast form getting out of control that first time we met, and Layla still approached me. She never judged me for loving Feyre, she looks at me as if she understands.

“You see, Layla, you know a lot about me, and due to our experiences of life and death I began to trust you...”

“Please Tamlin, I know I have a great ass. You are quite handsome yourself, with a great ass as well, but no, I am not in the mood to fuck.” She gives me a side look, smiling, and I splash water to her face.

“I was not going to proposition you!” I complain, laughing with her. Her laughter is so good and carefree, that I start laughing _at it_. We go to the riverbank and I use magic to make us dry and wearing clothes again, recovering our breath. “What I was going to say is that I don’t know much about you.”

“What do you want to know?” she asks, looking at the twilight over the horizon. The purple glint playing in her eyes for a second.

I think for a moment. “Let’s start with the most recent events, then go further. Were you Under the Mountain?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fight in The War?”

“Yes.” 

“Do you have a broken heart story as my own?”

Layla gives me a chuckle without looking at me. It is interesting how the sunlight kisses her skin. “Are you telling me that in all these hundreds of years, you have only loved Feyre? I am alive, so yes, I had loved ones and I had my heart broken here and there. If you are asking me about my last lover, he betrayed me, then were killed in front of me as a punishment, happened before Amarantha.”

Her eyes meet mine, assessing my reaction. I saw Feyre die, I understand Layla’s pain. She is strong, to laugh as she does and doesn’t look pained. “Do you have family?”

A frown in her face makes me wonder what her family must have done to her. “I do, I don’t like them.”

“Do you have any dreams? Like, becoming a commander or something,” the wind is getting chilly, so I make our clothes warmer, and tie my hair at the back of my neck.

“I am more of a person of the present,” Layla smiles softly. “If I want to do something now, and I can, I just do. Perhaps the best dream I can fathom is to choose the way I die.”

That sounds like an alarm, and I frown. “Layla, you have a wish to die?”

She chuckles again, but it sounds sad. “You didn’t listen.”

“Choose the way you die,” I repeat, and look in her eyes, searching for any wrong sign. “That sounds suicidal. You know, I had dark thoughts ever since Feyre left me and I lost my court as well. I still do. But I feel reborn now, and the thoughts don’t overtake me as frequently as they used to, and part of the reason is you,” Layla’s brows shot up in surprise. “You became my friend, Layla. You said truths to my face and walked along with me. So, if you do have dark thoughts and it gets heavy, please allow me to try and tell you some truths and walk alongside with you, to be your friend back.”

I invite Layla for dinner in the mansion, where now there is a dinning room for formal meetings and a dinning room similar to the great hall, only smaller, where we all from the manor have diner together and it is where tonight, Layla is included. There is loud talk, jokes, and our controlled food for the night. Winter is coming, and it only makes me more anxious to find the culprit of all the release of faeries, so we can have enough food to survive until next Calanmai.

After dinner, Layla and I stay in the living room, talking until late night. I insist on making her sleep over in one of the guest rooms, and she accepts. I went to sleep thinking about how happy I am to have another friend, that I was delighted to wake up and find Lucien in the living room by the morning, sitting on a couch and with Azriel sitting on a stool. Lucien sees me and jumps out of the couch, approaching me cautiously. I feel my grin growing as tears fill up his good eye and his lips curl. We stand in front of each other, with the weight of everything in unspoken words, then I pull Lucien into a tight hug, and the male sobs on my shoulder like a child.

Once settled down on the couches, they tell me about the human side having a few cases of faerie attacks, and my stomach makes an awful turn. They proceed to worse information, that they discovered that indeed the cases are about someone summoning the creatures, they’ve caught one, who told there was another two summoners. The summoner was disguised as a farmer at the Dawn Court, and he had a mark of a bargain on his left calf, prohibiting him from telling every detail. So, when he had spoken too much, he died.

“Hey Tamlin, I should get going...” Layla is saying as she enters the room, before realizing we have company. Lucien immediately looks at me with a questioning brow, and I shake my head vehemently, proving my point when Layla jumps into Azriel arms. “You are fine, you are good! You should’ve written me, you fucker!”

Azriel sheepishly looks at me, asking for help, but I am amused with the scene. A strange twinge hits my chest, uncomfortable with Layla being in his arms, but I assume it might be the same feeling as Lucien having another friends. I am too selfish, I need to work on it so I don’t hurt anyone like I have hurt Feyre.

“Yes, I am alright,” Azriel replies chuckling. “I am glad you survived the bogge, _again._ ”

Layla takes a step back, “yes, it was crazy shit. It had assumed... A form that made me think Tamlin would lose, but he fought back, and here we are.”

They might already know that the bogge turned into Feyre, because everyone there saw it, but I am thankful for Layla’s attempt to keep that only to us. Then she turns to Lucien. They don’t know each other, but as soon as they lock eyes, both their smiles vanish.

“Your eyes...” Lucien whispered. “You have the same eyes... You are glamouring your eyes!” Then he looks even more surprised, or more of horrified, as he pieces things together that I have no idea of. “You are a summoner!” he accuses loudly.

I am ready to correct him, but Layla tries to winnow away. She fails, because since we rebuilt this mansion, I have been protecting it again. No one can winnow inside my manor. Layla looks at me, understanding that not only now I know that she can winnow, but that she tried to run away, and that incriminates her without question. Since I am stunned with the development of this conversation, Layla thinks faster and attacks the most imminent dangerous one for her, Azriel. She kicks him on the head so strongly, that Azriel is thrown from the stool to the wall with a painful noise.

Something cracks inside of me, I am incredulous. I have to get some answers, so decided, I fight with Layla. This is no spar, no training. Layla is trying to kick me away to run off the mansion, and as I try to change her shape into something easy to catch, my powers don’t work on her. Why? What is happening? Only a High Lord is capable of avoiding my magic. Who is she? I don’t know what I feel – broken all over again. I just want to know, I need her to tell to my face that she used me, and for what reason. I catch Layla before she reaches the entrance door, and with my magic as the High Lord of Spring Court, controlling the air, I make it hard for her to breathe, until she passes out in my arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Ed Sheeran - Give me love


	8. Chapter 8

Back in the living room, now messed up, with the decoration all over the place, a couch upside down, cracks of window glass on the floor. I am standing, leaning against the wall beside the threshold, pinching the bridge of my nose. Lucien is sitting on the couch where he was before the fight, Azriel is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, wings curling at his sides on the floor, with a bandage on his head. I locked Layla in the old dungeon, with shakles and guards.

“We have to call Rhysand to this!” Azriel insists, again. “You saw her eyes, and with the knock on my head, I remembered. It broke her spell off, and now I remember Layla!”

“Her eyes are brown!” I growl, but it comes out weakly. I feel tired.

“No, it was a glamour,” Lucien says emphatically. “You saw it the moment she didn’t care anymore, they were like Rhysands’s eyes.”

I recall every time I saw a glimpse of that purple glint floating Layla’s eyes, her magic overflowing. Then moments ago it was entirely alive, purple and blue and everything the deep night sky can give. I saw it, and I still cannot believe it.

“Again, as I told you.” Azriel says, annoyed that he has to insist. “Layla is the former King of Hybern’s bastard daughter. He wanted to marry her off with Rhysand before The War, it was my duty to investigate the woman, but she approached me, we had sex, I asked her why her eyes looked like that, and Layla ran off. Ran from her father. I had not seen nor heard of her until these days, where we met making a patrol, and she used her magic to block my memory.”

“If she is a summoner as I accused her to be,” Lucien rises, “we must be careful with our questions. She might have a bargain mark that can kill her if Layla says too much.”

“She might be here for revenge. We killed her father.” Azriel points out.

“Tamlin, Rhysand can enter her head. Let’s call him. You will have your answers, and perhaps we can save Prythian with that.” Lucien puts a hand on my shoulder. We look at each other’s eyes for a moment. I don’t like this. I don’t like any of it. But I give a nod.

My heart sinks when Rhysand comes with Feyre beside him a couple of hours later. We acknowledge each other under tense air, then Feyre is the first to try, saying, “the place is alive again. Beautiful.”

_You could have done this together with me, Feyre._ I only nod in return.

“So, where is my ex-fiencé-to-be?” Rhysand asks.

Rhysand, Feyre, Azriel, Lucien and I find ourselves in front of Layla, in the dungeon. She is inside a cell, which we opened and entered to corner her, but Layla doesn’t look scared. She is sitting on the floor, back against the wall, her hair is a mess, she has a cut on her cheek and bruises from our earlier confrontation. And those eyes. They are not exactly as Rhysand’s, they are lighter and have a few spots of light brown. She is looking at me. Unreadable.

“You were mad by coming here, Feyre.” Layla says, dragging her head slowly to face Feyre. “You are definitely not so smart. You see, you are an incredible use of bait or hostage, since both other two High Lords fancy you.”

“What are you–” Rhysand starts, frowning.

But Layla only whispers to Feyre, “You can’t breathe.”

Feyre chokes suddenly, both hands on her throat as if she could take away something that is suffocating her and make her breathe again. I take a step to her, but Rhysand is there before I can make it, holding her, saying, “it is in your head, Feyre, you can breathe! She is in your head, love!”

I go for Layla, bringing her to her feet, then shake her arms violently, “stop it! Let her breathe!”

A few more shakes after, Layla brings her eyes to me, cold of emotion, and I hear Feyre's gasp behind me, breathing again. “You can’t get inside my head, Rhysand.” Layla says, still looking at me. “You can torture me, I won’t tell anything useful, and then you kill me. Or, you can spare us all and kill me now.”

“Tell us why you are here,” Feyre demands, hoarse voice, angry. “The more you tell us, the more merciful we can be and allow you to die.”

The phrase clicks something in me, echoing words coming forth and back. I come back to reality as Layla makes Azriel choke, then Lucien, then Feyre again. She takes her eyes off mine, glaring daggers to Rhysand, they both focused, and annoyed with it all, I knock Layla out. The others recover their breath, and Rhysand looks at me, angry.

“What you did to your head works fine,” Rhysand tells me. “You let us see some front, pretending that there it is all to it, but then there is a massive wall protecting your mind, really hard to get in. Perhaps that is why Layla has not made you choke to death yet, or, your mind is quite empty, so dumb that it somehow blocks our mind reading.”

“If you want to offend Tamlin, you better get out of here, Rhysand.” Lucien threatens. Lucien, my friend. At least that still feels real.

“Let’s get out of here and think some strategy to get to answers.” Azriel suggests.

“She is too powerful,” Feyre looks around. “She could make the guards come to free her.”

Again, the phrase clicks something in me. “I will stay here for a while, you go and talk of plans,” I offer. I can’t be with Rhysand and Feyre much longer.

They leave me behind with my thoughts. I start remembering every moment I spent with Layla, trying to decipher what was real. She helped me get my folks back, but was it for me, or was it to have more people to kill? Perhaps it was to distract me. Layla knows me too well, she can manipulate me easily. I repeat the words from only yesterday by the waterfall, where I was open to her, to build this new friendship. Was every word a lie? I never asked if she was from Summer Court, I just assumed. The soldiers back there have a history of some sort, they know Layla’s toughness, they were entertained with our sparring. That made me take for granted that she knew them for a long time, Layla being from Summer Court and all. She is not. What am I missing? What were those clicking of words in my head?

I am sitting across Layla, watching her. Did I hit too hard? Is she all right? I shouldn’t care. Layla is strong. Rhysand was sweating, mind fighting her. She is also physically strong. Our sparring were nothing comparing to today’s confrontation. Layla opens her eyes, takes a deep breath and watches me. There is something going on, I know there is more to it than Layla being an enemy. I feel it in my guts. Then, I think I understand.

“You attacked Feyre because you thought we would attack you back, even kill you.”

Nothing, no change of that blank expression. Though I believe that this no response is already a response, an encouragement to keep on going. So I do. “You are not free, so you want to die, and the way you chose to die was now, by our hands. Why would you look for revenge, and make us kill you?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she agrees.

“But it does have to do with your family. I assume it because of our conversation yesterday.” She doesn’t answer. “Is it a bargain that is keeping you from talking? Is there a way to break the bargain?”

A hint of smirk plays over her lips when Layla decides to take off her boots. For the first time, there is a mark on her left foot, looking like circles and triangles like black ink, going up to her ankle. She must have glamoured it as well so I'd never see it. 

“My bargain is about what is happening now to Prythian, but I can tell other things,” Layla sits up, her back against the wall, legs crossed.

“You mean your eyes,” I try. She nods. “So tell me.”

“Not now, when Rhysand is back, I will. But I can tell you that my father didn’t only have one bastard. He was old, had long enough to make lots of mistakes, such as I. You asked me if I had a family before, you know the answer.” Layla sighs. “I can tell you that I am strong, that you only caught me because of my foolish mistake of underestimating your ability to control air. Making Feyre choke was a revenge for what you did to me,” Layla smirks. “I can tell you that I am not from the Summer Court, that I went there with a man that I loved, that after so many years hiding from my father, thinking that life was good again, the man I loved was bought. He sold me out to my father, he never really loved me. Allec. Stupid, stupid man.” Layla shakes her head with a sad smile. “Once my father had me back, he made me watch as he cut off Allec’s tongue, and then proceed to cut more of that man. Let him bleed to die, and I watched, and I wanted to die, and I could not.”

“So somehow your family has control over you,” I conclude.

“I was born as a mistake, and put to good use because of my strength. Trained soldier, to kill, obey, and kill some more,” she answers, Layla’s eyes appraising my every expression in reaction.

“Why couldn’t you die?” I wait, but Layla remains silent. “You are forbidden to kill yourself. You couldn’t then, and you can’t now," I understand. "But if you provoke enough and someone else does the deed...” again, a sad smile. “Trained soldier, obeying orders... You are back to it, it is not _your_ plan of revenge. You are following orders.” I watch her for a moment, repeating more information in my head, trying to connect things. “Family orders, the other bastards.” Layla raises a brow. “So Hybern is our enemy again, they have infiltrated people summoning faeries that eat us all. There is only one other summoner alive besides you, we don’t know where. If we catch the third one, will we be attacked? Will there be other summoners?”

“You tell me,” she chuckles.

“You are too calm. Perhaps you see only two choices: die by our hands or die by your family’s hands. So maybe you don’t care what happens to Prythian...” I narrow my eyes. “No, you care about the people, you care about the dying. So maybe you are a key, and if you die, Hybern loses their true weapon.”

“It is okay, Tamlin. Our fuck wouldn’t be that good, so you won’t be losing anything important,” Layla grins.

“Oh fuck, is it really it? You are the key? You are actually the Layla my friend and I have to kill you to save Prythian? Please, tell me you are playing tricks, make me hate you.”

Rhysand comes alone to the dungeon, apparently it is part of the plan they all came up with. Layla is still looking at me, as if telling me to let go, to let Rhysand kill her. But no, she is mad, I am mad. This is all wrong. What the fuck?

“I presume you tried to convince him to free you,” Rhysand says, leaning against the cell’s door, hands in his pockets.

“Yes, I offered sex and everything," Layla answers. “He asked me about my eyes.” Layla glances at Rhysand.

“Oh? Does Tamlin like your eyes? If he does, I can assume he likes mine as well.” Rhysand chuckles.

“You want to know as well,” Layla croons.

“I can live without knowing,” he shrugs.

“That would be no fun.” Layla smirks. “You see, we are cousins, Rhysand.” I watch his face wrinkle, not understanding. “Your father had a twin sister, and as the Night Court has its charming history of being cruel, they sold her to Hybern. The king raped her until he was satisfied, and I was born. Mom died when I was a kid, when my father discovered about my existence. You know he was strong, and his bloodline, with a Night Court’s heir bloodline, I am an abomination.” Suddenly Layla stands, her shackles fall and disintegrate by her feet.

That explains Layla being as powerful as to cancel my magic on her, and her eyes. I rise, and stretch myself. “Layla, help us defeat the enemy. Choose living, instead of which way of dying,” I tell her. “I understand you can’t tell us because of the bargain, but it wouldn’t be your fault if someone were to enter your mind and find out about everything.”

Layla looks at me, deciding whether or not to give me a chance, to give living and being my friend a chance.

“Imagine it Layla, how much of those _fun times_ you would lose if you just died,” I tease her. “Choose living. You know, if you choose living there is still a great chance of dying, but you could help a friend here. Before dying. By choosing it, as I said.”

“You could go along just to shut him up,” Rhysand suggests.

Layla narrows her eyes to Rhysand and his eyes go glassy. I am about to ask if she is trying to kill him, when I understand that Layla has chosen to live. She is showing him her mind, exposing the secrets, the threats, while smiling at me with that friendly mischief. Layla opened her mind to shut Rhysand up. Though after a minute, Layla starts sweating, her eyes failing, her body shaking. I catch her before she falls, she is in fever. The moment she closes her eyes with a soft groan, Rhysand gasps as if he was inside a lake and emerged for air. I think he communicated with the others, since Feyre, Lucien and Azriel show up, looking at the woman passed out in my arms.

Rhysand tells us Layla’s story. She grew up in Hybern receiving training harder than the illyrians could have nightmares of, killing even people who were supposed to be by Layla’s side, following orders, no questions asked. Layla was not allowed to kill herself, her father printed a seal on her to guarantee it. She received training from her older brother, Kaius, because he as well had the King’s strength running in his blood, and he could take Layla’s punches. For the mind, they had the best Hybern’s pawns to teach Layla how to mind control, mind read, and anything related. But she was stronger, she killed her teachers, except for her older brother.

Besides Kaius, Layla has three more brothers. One is that who was caught as a summoner, and died, one is by Kaius side as a commander, the other is a fugitive as Layla once was. Running from his family. Kaius the new King of Hybern, and to show his power, he is avenging his father by creating a massive massacre in Prythian. He wants death, then he will offer a mean of salvation, and have the control of Prythian. The summoning is made with ancient magic, creating slits where comes the energy of creation, the same energy from the cauldron, for enough time to produce the dangerous kind of faerie. The slits are like recent wounds, if you do something harsh, they open again.

So, at the beginning of the winter, Layla has orders to do something hash. She is going to create a slit big enough to bring some ancient kind of creature. The kind that no one should mess with. That will cause the other slits to open, Prythian will be under attack. Kaius will wait and have fun until he is satisfied, and have reinforcements to kill the same creatures they are going to summon. Layla being the strongest will do most of the job.

“Kaius doesn’t need Layla exactly. If we were to kill her, he could find something else to produce enough damage and open up the slits,” Feyre observes.

Rhysand explains about Layla’s bargain. Layla tried to live a life hiding with Allec in Prythian, after she was caught and brought back to Hybern, the King wanted to destroy everyone she knew. He was ready to send Amarantha to Prythian, but he was contemplating the idea of decimating the Summer Court. Kaius made the suggestion about a bargain with Layla, one that would have her serving her Hybern family for good and they would not end the entire Summer Court. She has to serve and not tell anyone about their plans, and that is what she is doing now in Prythian. Obeying Kaius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Lewis Capaldi – Before you go


	9. Chapter 9

“The only way I see Layla out of it, is if we kill her brothers. She won’t have someone to serve on the other end of the bargain if they are all dead.” Azriel says.

We are in a guest room, surrounding the bed where Layla is sleeping, with stools and armchairs. I had her wounds treated, her fever has gone down, but she still hasn’t waken.

“The beginning of winter is in two weeks,” Feyre points out. “We will have to do a second plan to hold Layla, hide her, if we don’t find her brothers, because she will be forced to follow the bargain and open all the slits at once.”

“When she wakes, I can get inside her head again to find the location more precisely,” Rhysand says, “As the matter of Kaius, we have to decide whether bring him here, or get the party to him there, in Hybern.”

Layla has gone through a lot. I am still processing what this day has come to be. I woke up to a nice visit of Lucien, fought Layla thinking she was an enemy, locked her up at my family’s old dungeon that I have not been there in hundreds of years. I was surprised the place was not collapsing on us. Then, I allowed Rhysand to come and help us investigate the matter, had to watch him and Feyre together. Layla showed off her power, choking Feyre, Lucien and Azriel. I had to guess about her, find out what was true only trusting on my intuition. Layla was... Is my friend after all, with a problem of not wanting much to live. She has a tough family, which it’s members are our true enemy. Long, long day indeed.

“I think we should wait for Layla to wake to make decisions,” I say exhausted. “She knows the enemy better than us.” I sigh heavily. “You are welcome to eat and stay the night, I will have rooms ready for you.”

Feyre meets my eyes with emotion. I am tired to try and figured her out. We are strangers now, who once loved each other, who used to laugh together, to share the bed and make love. Feyre is not mine anymore, she doesn’t want me. But the familiarity of our intimacy cannot be denied, it is right here in our eyes.

“Thank you for offering, Tamlin,” Rhysand cuts us from our trance. “But Feyre and I still have other matters to attend to. We will be back tomorrow...” He hesitates, “if that is okay with you.”

I nod once.

“I will stay, and Azriel should as well, rest your head.” Lucien says, and Azriel nods agreeing.

I walk Rhysand and Feyre out of the manor, wait for them to winnow outside the terrain, and return inside, to find Lucien and Azriel in the dinning room, already eating. I take a seat myself, and am only half listening to Lucien. Naming enemies is a good part of the way to the victory, now comes planing and fighting. It looks like winter is here, and I am already failing my people again, knowing that even surviving Layla’s family, there are problematic matters to solve in Spring Court, such as bellies to fill, houses to be built and warm.

Finishing my dinner first, I excuse myself and leave the manor. Dutifully I visit the villages, the farms and confirm our food situation. My new version of High Lord listens to my people’s opinion, some of them gives me some ideas about increasing the plantations and vigilance so the animals can’t steal from us. They also tell me about inventions to detect the approach of faeries that could harm them, so that they can prepare themselves for big attacks, stay safe before reinforcements arrive. We agree about the construction of this inventory alarms, I spread the word to the other villages, then return home with a mind a little more satisfied.

While in bath I make more drastic calculations, thinking of the worst scenario in the matter of hunger, and start thinking of solutions. Feeling asleep ready to go to bed, I wonder if Layla is all right, and find myself walking to her bed chamber. She is awake, like me, she must have just took a bath, with strands of her hair still wet, sticking to her neck. Layla is sitting on an armchair by the open balcony, looking at the sky. Most of her bruises are healed, she chose a light nightgown so short that it barely reaches her thighs, so I can see some purple and green stains caused from our earlier combat. There are some scars, a big nasty one on her calf. The bargain mark on her feet no more hidden, brings the confusion of my day with a heavy sigh. Regardless, I have seen Layla naked, have seen the scars before, but now that I know more of her story, those scars have more meaning. They are not just from battles as I supposed before, they are from her heavy life. Somehow, I am mesmerized.

“You are doing something bad to me, Tamlin,” Layla says lowly, looking at me.

“Care to be more specific?”

“You are making me hope again.”

Sitting on the armchair in front of her, I shake my head to Layla, and say, "If we are to be truly friends, hope shouldn't mean something bad. Hope only hurts if we have no one to support us, but I am here for you, Layla."

Her eyes assesses me, as if trying to perceive an illusion, as if my words are that of a fool. Layla frowns, "you do realize that when we first met, you saved me from the bogge, the same one that I set free from an energy slit, right? Do you remember the blood? Do you remember the remaining of the Summer soldiers?"

The images come easy to mind, and I nod. "I also remember how you were trembling, terrified."

We sustain each other's gaze in silence. So many thoughts, so many information to process, for the both of us. After several minutes, Layla's mouth tugs at the corner slightly, then she rises only to walk a few steps and throw herself to the bed. Layla goes under the covers and says, “come here, sleep with me.”

And for the first time in a long while, I have a good night of sleep, waking up with the Sunrise well rested, Layla in my arms. I came to her bed as a friend last night, but I am feeling different now. My heart is warm and her body against mine provokes another kind of heat. It is a bit scary, I am not ready for this, so I leave before she wakes. Lucien decides to have breakfast with me in my chambers, and I know exactly why. He wants to know how I am feeling, considering Feyre, and Feyre and Rhysand.

“It hurts,” I tell him the truth, “to see her with him, to know that I am not the one who makes her happy. But I think I have become acquantance of this specific hurt, it doesn’t surprises anymore, so there is no risk of me going wild and mad on this matter. What about you and your mate?”

“I think she is in love with Azriel,” Lucien takes a sip of his tea. “It is strange, because I was never her friend, I am not her friend, but something inside me wants to claim her mine. I don’t love her, Tamlin. It is... bizarre.”

“And that Bird queen? I thought I caught you taking interest in her,” I tease my friend.

Lucien chokes on his tea, and curses something about being burned. He tells me some of his adventures with the woman in question, but she is still focused on her quest to get rid of her curse. Not long after, Rhysand and Feyre are back, we all reunite in my study, with stools for those with wings to sit. Layla tells us what she can, and allows Rhysand in her mind to fill in the gaps. Her brother summoner is called Laurent, and according to the plan, Layla thinks he is by the north of Prythian, since she is south.

If Laurent senses danger to the plan, he is going to instigate terror and accelerate the process, even if opening a huge slit of energy kills him, so Layla suggests we locate him first, and then deal with Kaius. The better option, she thinks is to ambush him, making him come to Prythian and then kill him. She can’t go near her brothers, because of her bargain. If they order her to do anything, she will have to oblige. But Layla volunteers to take down her brother’s army, since if he comes to Prythian, he will likely bring company.

“I am so tired of going to war,” Lucien complains.

“I can also try to fix the slits of energy meanwhile,” Layla says. “I mean, I can’t do it myself.”

“You are forbidden,” Rhysand completes her thought. “But if someone as good as you follow your orders, then it can be done.”

“Let me try,” Feyre asks. “I can make Nesta help as well, if needed.”

“Yeah, call Nesta on it. Will you bring Cassian as well?” Layla asks not so much innocently. It humors me as much as it gives me a painful throb in my chest.

“Fine, so Feyre, Layla, Cassian and Nesta are on closing the energy slits.” Lucien states. “We can’t talk to the other High Lords about it before catching Laurent, or he might discover and we are over.”

“We can talk to Tarquin at least,” I say, “he has been in it since the beginning. His soldiers are everywhere. If we are making Kaius come to Prythian, having organized troops will helps us at first instance.”

“Agreed,” says Azriel. “Speaking of that, I suggest that instead of Cassian, that I go with the women party to close the slits, and let Cassian take care of the illyrian force, since he is the commander. We will use the illyrians to look for Laurent at the north, but do it strategically, so we have a barrier of illyrians to defend the northern borders.”

“You are taking Cassian from Nesta?” Rhysand asks. “Be my guest to tell them that.”

Feyre laughs at Rhysand's humor, and for a moment, is like the room is underwater and slow motion. Happiness does good deeds to Feyre, and I ache a little. It is the trust that they share, the attraction so clear between that exchange of looks, their love evident, it all makes my longing almost suffocating. If it didn't hurt me this badly, I could have hallucinated Feyre in my arms, or the love that I once saw in her eyes, love for me. Nevertheless, the pain in my chest is too real, nothing of the like of hallucinations. I avert my eyes, finding Lucien and Layla looking at me, they both concerned. A small and silent chuckle escapes me, amused at how I can feel lost as my heart is ripped and smashed in front of me, and secure from a second to the other, fond of my friends worrying about me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: My Chemical Romance – I don’t love you


	10. Chapter 10

Time was not in our favor, so after lunch we said our goodbyes. How they would convince Nesta to help was a Feyre’s problem. If she couldn’t, then Rhysand would stop his task and try to help. Goodbye to Rhysand and Azriel was easy. Lucien was coming with me to see Tarquin. Saying goodbye to Feyre was painful, and she must think that I am pathetic, because I am sure my face gave me away. Then saying goodbye to Layla was another kind of ache. She hugged me tightly. She was not leaving me behind, she was leaving for a mission that could have her killed. I was afraid for her, I didn’t want to lose her – I barely had time to have Layla as my friend.

Of course, now that they are gone, Lucien is asking me about Layla. “She is my friend,” I answer, and this seems to suffice, for now.

We go to the Summer Court, and since Tarquin was not expecting us, we have to be docked in his agenda first thing tomorrow morning. We take the afternoon to see the soldiers reports, learn if there is any news. I go back to the Spring Court to patrol, and return to the Summer Court to have dinner with Lucien. The following morning we are up with the sun, and find Tarquin in his study. He listens to our discoveries, worry written on his face. Lucien and I give him time to absorb, returning the discussion after dinner, with the company of alcohol.

Tarquin agrees with our plans so far, and we discuss about placing soldiers near the places we marked as the origin of the faeries that attacked us. It takes hours for us to decide numbers and strategies, since the soldiers need supplies as well. Tarquin and I make a deal that after this confrontation we will help each other with food and water. Satisfied with the reunion, Lucien and I return to the Spring Court.

“How do we know about the women’s progress?” Lucien asks aloud what I’ve been asking myself.

“I guess we will have to wait,” I say, more to myself than to anyone.

A couple of days later, Rhysand sends me a letter telling that all soldiers – illyrians and Summer soldiers – have managed to set a camp near the malign faerie focus’, which the women have accomplished their task of definitely closing the slits of energy in great majority. I do my patrol thinking that soon I will see Layla again, that she will finish the task in hand, and come back to me. I am distracted and almost miss the male sitting on a rock, under a big tree’s shadow. He looks bored, even when he spots me, and I wonder if he is a Summer soldier that got lost and left behind. We are far from the nearest camp, he has the gown of one, so I approach him.

“From which camp are you, soldier?”

“Jorum’s,” he answers.

I take a step closer to him, ready to offer to take him there, and the man rises to meet me half way. Too late, I feel the piercing pain in my side. The male has used an ash arrow on me, and is winnoing us away. We appear by a door to Under the Mountain, and I can’t move. All my muscles are aching, throbbing, tensed. It is like I am too heavy to move, to even stand. It is not the arrow's effect, but his magic working on me, I realize. The man leans against a tree.

“Layla will soon come, and all will be sorted,” he tells me. “Whenever I send her a message, she has no choice but to meet me.”

“What do you mean?” I say, each word strangled out of me.

“She has to report to me. You see, I am her brother, Laurent.” The only resemblance is the olive skin. The male’s eyes are black, his short hair is brown, crocked nose and he is shorter than Layla. “Do you think we would let Layla freely walking around after she was stupid enough to fall in love and ran from Hybern? We know she is up to something, she has been seen in places she shouldn’t be. So, since she has approached you, I thought of using you to make my point to her. Layla forgets where she comes from, such stupid woman. You know they all are, but Layla is the most ridiculous.”

“I am the Spring Court High Lord, Layla the soldier approached me with reports only. I don’t know what you mean!” I grit my teeth. He is powerful, but I know I can leave. Though, if I leave and Layla actually comes because she can’t escape the bargain, it will be just really unfortunate. There is no choice then, I have to stay and take her away. So I am going to bear with this weigh for a while more.

“Do not try to trick me, you fucking shithead!” Laurent looks at me disgusted, “they have seen you naked, having a nice time in a waterfall. They saw you together and know that Layla cares about you.” A noise behind us changes Laurent’s expression to a smug smirk. “It was about time!”

Layla walks to us with an unreadable face, though I can smell her fear. We know her brother is strong, but Layla never knew the extension of his powers. She is sure that it is mutual, that he doesn’t know all about her as well, however, she is forbidden to harm him. “Brother,” she greets.

“Tamlin here is as desperate as I am to understand what the fuck you are doing, Layla. Please entertain me with your fucking stupid mind.” Laurent says sweetly.

“He was getting closer to find out about me, I had to use another mean to distract him,” she answers without a falter in her voice. “But now you solve this, brother. He was falling into my story, wanted my body. Tamlin is a High Lord. Please, tell your stupid sister how you are going to deal with him now that you have given him everything.”

Laurent is displeased, apparently believing Layla's words. He looks at me, pondering. “We are close enough, if you kill him, there won’t be too much interference.”

“I brought someone,” Layla bursts. She is trying to take Laurent’s focus from me, now that he looks decided to kill me. “Nesta, come out!” she shouts to the trees, where a moment after, Nesta steps forward. “She is the one who killed father, you see.”

“Layla, you’ve done well!” Laurent beams. He is so excited to see Nesta, his eyes fixed on the death of her eyes, that he misses to notice Feyre behind him.

She makes water from her flask go around Laurent, right to his face, suffocating him. Laurent turns to Feyre, but I am already there to attack him, holding his arms on his back, making him fall to his knees. He is strong, trying to pull away from me. Just with his eyes on Feye, he manages to send her flying away with his magical ability to produce some invisible weight force. “Feyre!” I scream, worried that he has hurt her.

Layla comes to my side, her brother making furious threats. His sudden silence surprises me, then I watch Layla staring him as I have seen Rhysand stare at his target, she is going inside his head for information. Laurent must be putting up a fight, or the bargain is eating Layla up, because she looks pained, sweating. I look to Nesta, and with a nod of my head, silently demand her to go and check on Feyre, she follows, not without a scowl. Layla gasps, emerging back from Laurent’s mind. “Kill him, Tamlin! Kill him now!” And I do, breaking his neck. His body falls limply at our feet.

“Where is Azriel? How did you all came here?” I ask.

“We were at the Summer Court, resting after closing another energy-slit when someone let a note slip under our room’s door.” Nesta answers, approaching with a weak Feyre relying on her sister to walk. “The note said ‘time to report. Spring.’ And just like that, Layla became a doll. She invented an excuse that she had some place to be, and there was no time to find Azriel, we had to reach her before she winnowed.”

I turn to Layla in time to see her falling, passing out, and catch her by the waist. Taking her into my arms, I approach the Archeron sisters. “Hold on to my arms, I am going to winnow us to the manor.” With my foot on Laurent’s dead body, I take us home.

My priority is Layla’s welfare, so I hurry to take her to a room and have a healer with her. Once she is settled, I call on another healer for Feyre, and find Lucien so we can see about Laurent’s body. I winnow us out, to an inhabiting place so we can bury the male. Normally I would have left the corpse behind and let nature takes its course, but we cannot risk having Laurent's body found out. Lucien listens to what happened while helping me, being angry to find out that there are spies everywhere, that we have to suspect everyone from now on.

“As long as we don’t talk much about what we know, people will only know where we are.” I tell Lucien. “Layla must have found out something, and when she wakes and tell us, we will be ready.”

Lucien nods. We stare a tour work in silence, a million of thoughts making me dizzy, the wound at my side from the ash arrow healing by itself ever so slowly. Are we going to win another battle? Prythian barely recovered from all the Cauldron war, and we have to fight again. Our people are still grieving. I don’t want more deaths, I don’t want to lose more. I don’t want to lose Layla.

“I saw you winnowed the women party,” Lucien’s voice takes me from my thoughts. We meet our eyes.

“No one but me can winnow to the manor. Feyre got hurt, she couldn’t winnow near and then walk to the manor, Layla was passed out.” I explain.

“Yes, I am not questioning it.” Lucien arches a brow, analyzing me. “You let her touch you, and you look fine with it. I wasn’t going to say it, but thinking better, I thought pointing it out would make you see that you can move on.”

I recall now that Feyre hesitated to touch me, but I didn’t pay attention to it at the moment. My worry about Layla overtook me, so I was not burning for Feyre’s touch. I don’t know if worrying about a passed out friend instead of my big love’s touch means that I am moving on. No, I _do_ know. Common sense would make this situation reasonable, but old Tamlin wouldn’t care if everyone was on fire, if only to feel Feyre’s touch again. Lucien has a point, I am healing from my broken heart and it feels foreign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Mcfly - POV


	11. Chapter 11

There is a suriel on the other side of the river, staring at me as if frozen in place, and I realize I am an immobile beast staring back. The wind makes the grass dance around us, the suriel’s rotten robes swaying, too much fabric to cover such a slim body, almost just bone and skin. “Are you one of the creatures that were summoned?” I ask.

“No suriel can be summoned like they have summoned the bogges that you have faced.” It answers, a complex voice of knowledge, combining old and new, one and many.

“It is so rare to find one of your kind, and I was not even looking for you,” I muse, the suriel smirks, its lips thin and dry. “So please, tell me of your knowledge. Tell me what I must hear.”

“Very well, I shall not keep you: when it is time, you can save her. Remember this, High Lord. Remember that I told you so. You won’t need to use your mouth, _you just have to remember what was not a lie_.”

“She? Who are you talking about? Is someone in danger?” I step closer, wetting my claws at the end of the riverbank and beginning of the river.

“Aren’t we all?” the suriel shows his large gray teeth in this horrible smile. “The new King of Hybern is on his way to Prythian; he knows about the other summoners, he is coming for death. You should go, High Lord. Go and try to save us all. I do hope to keep on living, though hope is not a certainty, is it now? How amusing of Mother and The Cauldron to let the lives of Prythian into the claws of a moody boy!” it laughs on its many voices.

I should go. I watch the suriel wave its hand with cracked yellow fingernails, and I winnow back to the manor. The thought of someone being in danger hits me harder, worrying that the _she_ the suriel spoken of is a very known _she_. Hope is not a certainty, which means I could be Prythian’s doom at some point, not being able to save _her_. I am torn between checking on Feyre and Layla, both to much importance to me. Escaping to make the decision as I walk into the mansion and find both of them in the living room, plus Lucien, Azriel, Nesta and Rhysand. My scowl is inevitable at the sight of the latter.

“Let’s get to my study, where we can talk more privately,” I tell them and walk away without making sure they are following me, though I hear them sighing and lazily rising to their feet.

Making ourselves comfortable, using the stools, couch and armchairs, my eyes keep flipping from Feyre to Layla, looking for any sign of... Anything bad. They are hurt and tired from Laurent’s confrontation, but them both look just fine. Feyre is wearing a Night Court dress like her sister, only fancier. They are both long, with short sleeves. Nesta’s dress is cobalt with a cleavage going down to her navel, the fabric like a second skin on the upper part, then loose on the skirt. Feyre’s dress has the same cut, the color of the richest wine with stars sewn on her skirt, shining beads by the hem and all contour of her body, accentuating her curves. My hands turn into fists, remembering how it felt to grope her delicious breasts.

Azriel is wearing his illyrian uniform, looking with fondness at his High Lady talking to her sister. Layla is wearing a Spring Court light dress, made with leaves in different shapes and shades of green etched through the fabric. It ends by her calves and has a sweet neckline that takes my thoughts from Feyre, to wonder how does Layla tastes right there on her collarbone. Her black hair is made in a low bun, and now I am wondering about the column of her neck. Then I realize Layla is looking intently at Rhysand, and he is returning her gaze. Are they talking in their heads? It looks like they are trying to read each other, measure each other.

“So we know that if receiving a message, Layla must attend to her brother,” Lucien starts. I notice I never see him wearing Night Court’s vestments, as if he is his own. For instance, now he is wearing shades of brown and fallen leaves, I suppose to indicate the end of Autumn right there at the corner. “I don’t want to be rude, but I think Layla must be watched at all times.”

“Whatever, you take turns watching me,” Layla takes her eyes from Rhysand and she lays down on the couch.

“What did you find out from Laurent’s mind?” I ask.

“The bastard called on Kaius to come before their previous agreement, since he mistrusted dear Layla,” Rhysand answers. “We might have a couple of days before Kaius arrives, so I suppose now is a good time to reunite with all the other High Lords and prepare to battle once more. Kaius also knows that we have been closing the slits of energy, but he has discussed with Laurent, and they were confident enough that Layla had the power to shatter a plausible amount of new ones at once, and cause Prythian’s downfall either way. Guess mixing Night Court’s family bloodline with King of Hybern’s bloodline made quite the combination, huh.” Rhysand keeps his gaze on Layla.

“You worried there is someone stronger then you, Rhys?” I tease, and he glances at me sideways.

“I bet he is regretting turning down the settlement about a marriage with me, all those years ago!” Layla laughs to no one. “Get over it, cousin. We could make beautiful babies, but more likely we would kill each other.”

The room breaks into laughter, except for Feyre, who rises with the most faerie anger that I have seen on her face. My laughter dies, the others’ as well. She says, “Are you flirting with _my mate_ to my face?”

Rhysand looks amused to Feyre, but she is looking viciously at Layla, who still lays there on the couch without a care in the world. “Feyre,” Layla says, idly lifting her head to meet Feyre’s eyes. “Do not blame me for a cheap flirt, blame your mate for enjoying it too much. Grow up, woman.”

I see Feyre tilt her head in a predatory way. I have heard of how out of a mind one can become because of a mate bond, but watching Feyre grow more animal and irrational because of what I wouldn’t even call a flirt, it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. Since _I am_ rational right now, I launch myself forward, taking Layla from the couch into my arms, letting the couch stay as a barrier between Feyre and us. Rhysand is also on his feet, holding Feyre by her waist.

“We are talking about the end of Prythian in another war. Rhysand and Layla were lightening the mood, Feyre,” I tell her. “Can you please keep this hunger for a fight for when we actually need you to fight?”

Feyre growls.

_She has closed off her mind connection with Rhysand._ I hear, and take a second to understand that it is Layla in my head. Like smoke almost assuming a form and being blown away. _As much as I could use some fun, I am sure you would not be as entertained as me, so please, take me from this room Tamlin._

“We may meet again once Feyre has calmed down,” I say, taking Layla by her elbow to start leaving the room. A thought occurs to me, making me grimace and stop half way. I catch Rhysand’s eyes and tell him through my mind, because I know he will listen, “ _if your way of calming Feyre down is fucking her, do not do it here. At least spare me from that.”_

Rhysand assesses me, then gives me a firm nod. With a last glance at mad Feyre, I turn to leave with Layla, winnowing us out to the Spring Court fields. The cool breeze playing with my hair.

“I am surprised it took you so long to get inside my head,” I sit under the shadow of the big trees, watch Layla as she mimics me.

“Were you afraid of me?” she assesses me.

I snort, then I realize she is being serious. So I tell her the truth, “afraid of what you would find out in my head. Afraid that it would make you leave.”

Layla nods with understanding.

“It shouldn’t be a surprise at all. You have a strong barrier, you are capable of playing innocent by allowing part of your mind exposed, just front thoughts, but there is a massive wall keeping anyone from going further. I suppose that is how you managed to pretend to be by my father’s side when he tried to take Prythian last time.” Layla is sustaining my gaze with her night sky’s eyes. They are like a whole universe of their own, and I want to discover all of their secrets, all of Layla. “Since you let just a front, it is only possible to take a glimpse and not stay there for long, only if I want to be mean and make you do things. Though to do so, it would take me some energy.

“Supposing you were an enemy, you would have to pay attention, and even then, I doubt you would notice that I’d become weaker, exhausted, depending on the amount of time I’d spend inside your head,” Layla explains. I recall the few times Rhysand imposed his power over me. This could explain why he simply didn’t just controlled me every time or just for the pleasure of tormenting me.

“It means that if I manage to be free from your mind control and still have strength, I could take you down right after you release me?” I wonder.

“Not quite,” Layla chuckles. “I would be weaker, but depending on the kind of mind control, so would you. You’d have to be really, really strong to fight me and survive to tell the tale.” Her gaze wandering down my torso, as if she could see me naked, my muscles, before returning to my eyes with no hint of embarrassment whatsoever, while I feel suddenly conscious and warm. “You are tough, Tamlin. It is hard to get into your head, harder to stay. Though let me warn you about something.” Layla gives me a smug smirk. “In regards of me, you have been less cautious, and sometimes I catch glimpses of your thoughts about me. For example,” Layla lifts up her chin, her eyes half-lids, the purple a darker shade. “when you were wondering what did my neck and collarbone tasted like, I could hear you loud and clear.”

My eyes roam said neck and collarbone. I swallow. “I’ve been caught,” I arch a brow.

“Don’t worry,” Layla says as she rises, “neither Feyre or Rhysand got anything like that. My theory is just that: you are not cautious around me because you trust me as your friend, whilst you don’t trust Feyre and Rhysand as so.”

I avert my eyes. She has also listened to my ogling on Feyre’s body. Layla is not telling me this because she wants to tease me, as it first looked with her eyes heated; she doesn’t want to listen to my thoughts on Feyre. It must be disgusting to her, to know what my mind is like, to know how horrible I can be. Wanting Feyre desperately and feeling all that turmoil of hatred, abandoned, sorrow. Taking a deep breath, I rise as well. On the other hand, Layla’s eyes _were_ heated, and that neck of hers... _Fuck, you just heard that, didn’t you?_

Layla closes the distance between us, her scent invading my personal space. She reaches out a hand, placing strands of my hair behind my ear. Her fingers go from the hair to contour my jawline, exploring my growing beard. The softest brush of her lips over mine steals a deep intake of breath of me. “You taste like freedom.” Layla whispers. My heart beats alive with emotion, still too raw, hurt, but powerfully alive. I brush my lips over Layla’s again, my eyes closing involuntary. This touch is real, warm. “Feyre must have calmed down,” she says softly. “Change me into a wolf, let’s run back to the manor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: “Someone New” by Hozier


	12. Chapter 12

We try to make quick plans, consisting basically of going to the others High Lords. I have to talk to the Summer, Winter and Autumn, Rhysand has to go for Day and Dawn. Feyre and Nesta are going with Azriel and Lucien for the other slits that Layla marks on a map, then they will go up north to defend the Night Court’s borders. With a bit of more teasing, Layla says she wants to go with Rhysand, to help him with the front line in combat, but Feyre’s warning growl ends the joke, and Layla decides to come with me, since someone has to keep an eye on her.

Kallias is reluctant at first, since Winter Court was the least attacked, but Layla assures him that his court would not be spared if Kaius were to take over Prythian. The High Lord is not pleased to have me at his court, he does not trust me, and I cannot blame him, albeit I need his strength to protect the people. I do not know what is it that Kallias sees on my face or hears in my voice that changes his expression while I plea for his assistance, but at some point his eyes flickers from me to Layla, and he finally agrees. It could have been her mind tricking him, but the look in his eyes, reading me, tells me that whatever had convinced Kallias, it came from me. Talking o Tarquin is easy, since he was already in the plan. He talks about the possibility of Prythian being invaded by other coasts, but Laurent’s mind was sure that Kaius wanted to go for the Night Court first, judging them to be the strongest. Though I agree we should have soldiers strategically placed throughout Prtyhian, given the threat of the slits opening and all those malign faeries going loose. Tarquin suggests to keep his soldiers where they already are, then, only giving them reinforcements, be ready for the worst.

To have Beron’s help. The High Lord of the Autumn Court and I had an animosity conversation so I could convince him to help the war against the previous King of Hybern. His memory still raw, wincing at my presence. Even so, he contemplates the possibility of turning me down once again, and before I remind him his place as a High Lord, having to protect his people, Layla steps forward and takes control of his mind. I watch Beron’s eyes going glassy, expression of pure pain, open mouth, though no sound escapes him. Layla steps back, allowing Beron to gasp for air and recover.

“What are you?” Beron asks. Pale, scared, and angry.

“Tamlin’s scary friend,” Layla answers sweetly.

It is not the most amicable method, using force to have him working alongside with us, so now that he is afraid enough to not interrupt me, I tell him again about the least a High Lord has to do. I know my place, I know I am more of a warrior than a politician. That doesn’t mean I don’t know of the responsibilities. “If you don’t fight with us, do not be surprised if we lose and Kaius caring for you less than we High Lords do. Do not be surprised when he not so kindly asks for you to step down.” And Beron nods. We have him and his sons in his battle room and all his council, to discuss strategy.

Late night I return to the Spring Court with Layla, we both tired. One less day. Will Prythian survive this? Will we have another spring? I realize I have stopped in front of the house looking around, when I feel Layla’s hand squeezing mine. I see the mountains far on the horizon, smell the spring’s scent with life, soil and rivers. We can’t lose it. We just can’t. “Prythian has suffered too much,” I say, almost a whisper. “Spring Court has lost too much. They deserve life, the sunshine, hope and dreams. We can’t lose, Layla.”

In my chambers I take my time in bath, relaxing my tense muscles, trying to not suffocate in this anxiety and fear for my people. Submerging the water for a moment, shutting out the world, listening to the occasional bubbles. When I emerge back the surface, a knock on the door makes me finish my bath. I cover myself with a green robe, drying my body and hair with magic as I walk to the bed chamber’s door.

“What if he finds me?” Layla asks me. It is strange that I see true fear in her eyes, the ever so fierce female, hardly shaken, even more rarely shows it. The blue in her eyes is dark, with hints of those purple and colorful caused by a star dying or being born, a whole combination of twin universe staring at me. “What if he tells me to kill you?”

“Laurent used me to try and affect you, so I suppose it is an option, yes.”

Layla nods. Her wavy hair motioning as well, and I can’t help but push the curls behind her ear, out of her beautiful face. I take her sight in. Layla is wearing a light pink robe, silk fabric, tied at her waist. The jasmine scent mixed with daylight soothes me. My hand slips from her hair to her chin, then down her neck. Such soft skin. “Come inside.” I say, more like a command, albeit I won’t force her anything.

Closing the door once Layla is inside my room, I turn to face her again. We stand close, feeling each other’s body heat, attracting one another like magnets, and I don’t resist it, kissing these full lips in front of me, deeply. Layla responds with hunger, brushing her tongue, demanding to meet mine and I concede with a groan of pleasure. Surprised by the intensity, my heart is pounding like it doesn’t know how to process this feeling. Like I am... Happy. Immensely so. My hands have lives of their own, exploring Layla’s body over the silky fabric, making we both gasp to this introduction. At some point I undo the knot and open her robe, finding Layla bare. My mouth doesn’t want to part with hers, but I _need_ to see her body.

I had restrained myself from ogling her before; I have seen Layla naked, but I kept my eyes to hers most of the time. Now I don’t have to be polite, to treat her as _just_ a friend, and I look and stare and salivate to this vision, a low approving growl reverberating my body. Small breasts with light brown nipples, hard buds ready for me. I lick my lips languidly in anticipation. A few scars here and there, signs of a survivor. Muscles not exaggerated defined on her abs, large hips asking for my hands, muscled thighs and a trail of dark hair in between. I want to taste her there as well. Layla becomes more aggressive, running her fingers through my hair, pulling me into a hard kiss while the other hand undoes the knot of my robe, and peels it from me.

She feels good – skin, scent, breath, warmth. There is only Layla inside my head, my desire for her. Skin burning, I want and I want Layla. Her hand clawing my back makes me want to give her the world, she sucks and bites on my neck and I forget a world exists at all. In return, I grab her round ass as I have thought a few times before, pressing her body against mine, making her grind on my thigh and I feel her wet. Desire pools in my stomach. We kiss, we moan. Layla’s neck, such a fine column of neck! She tastes sweetly, so do her nipples. I carry Layla to bed, kissing my way down. Layla is great, knows what she wants, rides my mouth as she pants and moans softly, holding my hair in her fist.

All my body is tingling, happy, horny, she is beautiful. Layla gets more excited as I use one hand to grab an ass cheek and the other to insert two fingers deep into her. She feels so wet, so warm and clenches my fingers as she gets closer to the edge, that I can’t hold back a loud moan still sucking her clit, my hips involuntary moving to give my cock some friction against the mattress. Layla Layla Layla Layla. She comes on my fingers, and I don’t give her time to rest, burying my length in her, growling at the intensity. Layla kisses my mouth, bites my bottom lip then stares at me as I thrust. Over and over again. “Fuck me, Tamlin,” she whispers, lust heavy in her gaze. “Fuck me!”

To emphasize, Layla rolls her hips and I lose control, thrusting so hard that the bed moves. My eyes are fascinated by her sight, and it keeps making these things to me. It is as if I belong, and I want these intense blue eyes on me for more than I care to admit. Layla starts trembling out of control, her walls clenching my penis as she comes and I am gone, feeling my climax right there with her. I have Layla sleeping cuddling with me, while I run my knuckles on her arm, soothing her. I thought that if I slept with anyone I’d be betraying Feyre’s love, that I would be a liar to my heart. But Layla feels... Right. She has been my friend for a few months now, and Layla is part of my healing process, together with Lucien and the recovery of Spring Court, so it is reasonable that I like her warmth. With Layla I feel light. I am still afraid of scaring her off, of being possessive and overprotective enough to make her leave me, but I don’t feel any of these urges with her. I am not about to make the same mistakes.

Maybe, because of our friendship, Layla feels like my partner and equal. In this new friendship, she counts on me, like when she knew I could figure her out through her silence or lies. Layla counted on me to understand her, and took my hand to give another chance to life. The trust she deposited on me is a bond too tied to simply not trust her back, and instead of excluding her from my thoughts, or wanting her to be locked up in a place that I could think of as safe, I am happy to have her fighting alongside me. Layla said she wanted to be free, she came to me as an independent strong woman and asked me for freedom. She is by far one of the bravest ones that I know – if not _the_ bravest. How can my mind try to imprison such a strong woman? No, I can only admire. And pray that she doesn’t get bored of me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Pink - try


	13. Chapter 13

When I wake, I know there is something wrong. Layla is still in my arms, sound asleep, but it is not about this. Spring Court is in danger, I can feel it in my guts, I can feel the invasion. “Layla, I think your brother is here,” I shake her awake. She rubs her eyes before opening them, and reads my panic on my face. “This is not what Laurent knew, Kaius was supposed to go for the Night Court first!”

Layla nods slowly, then sits up. “We might have misjudged him,” she takes a deep shaken breath, as if controlling strong emotions, like anger and shame and fear. “his hatred for me seems like it is bigger than I thought. That is the only reason he would change such enormous plan, he has come for me. Since you are protecting me, it also means he has come to take you down as well... I am sorry, Tamlin.”

I think for a moment. Do I hide Layla or do I have her fight with me as I was thinking just before I fell asleep?

“Let me change you into a wolf so he won’t find you easily,” I tell her, and Layla almost smiles at me, but she is too tense to make it.

I wake some key servants through my estate, telling them to follow security protocol – to wake all the people and hide, and be ready to run away if needed. Layla and I winnow between villages, telling them we are being invaded, to prepare themselves. We also go to the Summer camps, all the troops march towards the bay, from where I feel we are being invaded. As a desperate move, I send a group of guards to ask for help from the Autumn and Summer Court. If Kaius defeats me, those two are more likely to go down next. I change part of my sentinels into wolves, the ones that were trained for this, and together with my army and the Summer soldiers that come from the closest camp, we march to face our enemy.

At my side I have about four hundred soldiers. We stop at the top of the hill before the beach, watching as what I stipulate to be a thousand of soldiers coming down from big ships, and about five hundreds of flying creatures from all kinds that belong to Hybern, waiting for Kaius signal to attack. I thought his army was bigger, like his father’s. Either he has his troops battling the Night Court, or he lost his people's strength. The former sounds more plausible. Which means he is underestimating me, and I hope he is wrong about this.

“High Lord Tamlin!” A man that I know for certain that is Kaius, since he looks so much like the former King of Hybern, comes out of the formation of soldiers, riding a white horse. A plain face with inky hair, nose wrinkled in disdain. Still in my beast form, I walk in front of my army so he can spot me. “You,” he glares at me. “You betrayed my father and killed my brother, and in between you thought you might seduce my sister as well.” He clicks his tongue. “I came to conquer Prythian, have all the High Lords bow to me or die, but you, Tamlin. Even if you bow and beg, you don’t get to survive. Feel honored to have me come firsthand for you, since you found a way into my naive sister’s head, I had to come personally for you.”

Kaius runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “You thought you could fool me, Tamlin? You thought that fucking Layla and finding holes in her family’s bargain would be enough to save Prythian? To save your sorry ass?” he barks a laugh. “My spies are on their way to get Layla in her stupid attempt to close the energy slits she had opened to bring maligns faeries to Prythian... Oh yes, I know all about that! I know she had to bring friends with her, because Layla herself can’t close the slits for good, it is against the family bargain. But I will have your people killed and you tortured to give her as a gift, since it looks like Layla had not learned her lesson from her last lover.”

Good news: Kaius doesn’t know Layla is right here. Bad news: he has people after Feyre. _Fuck_. I look to my small army. We have to hold on until reinforcements arrive, and even then, I don’t know if it will be enough. Tarquin’s soldiers are mostly spread all over Prythian, whilst Beron’s soldiers were headed north. It will have to do. I will have to be strong enough. Taking a deep breath, I face all my enemies. I smell excitement. I have to change it. Taking a few steps, crouched like I am hunting, I keep meeting their eyes, the slight change to their expressions as my low growl starts rumbling and reaching their ears. They take on my feral face, my fangs, my size. Good, the excitement is not unanimous anymore. Kaius opens his mouth to give me a funny retort, but my growl goes a bit higher, as if to say ‘shut your damn mouth!’ and he obliges. Good. Feyre was right to be afraid of me. There is a reason people are afraid of me. There is a reason the other High Lords can shift-shape themselves, but I am the most fearful. It is not that I am an ugly beast. No, it is more about how I can look into one’s eyes and make them know just like that how my rage will hardly make me stop before they are dead.

It is something that is in the way my muscles flex, as if giving them an idea about me crushing their skulls. Then there is something in my scent that inspire their body hair to go up, the goose bumps making their knees shake. When I allow this beast take control of me, the beast that hates its enemy, I am certain I become worse than my father ever was. Lets get this over with. My roar is enough to make a few enemies step back and encourage my army. I run ahead, jumping high enough to take down three of these flying creatures, they die under my weight as a fall back to the ground. Kaius gives his signal and the battle begins.

The wolves take my example of attacking the flying faeries. There are arrows taking down the others, and swords against swords sounds everywhere. Shouts, grunts, growls, my army keeping up inspired by my presence, knowing that I have their back. And I do. The blood in my mouth just encourages me to keep killing, ripping their heads. Kaius is behind his army, watching me. Coward. Though if I don’t fight him, I can take down more of his soldiers, giving my side a better chance of survival. I steal glimpses at Layla, and I know she is using her powers to slow down every enemy that approaches too much, since she was not trained to fight in wolf form, she has to depend on mind tricks. As long as Kaius keeps his eyes on me, Layla is going to be fine.

Seeing as my soldiers are handling their fight, I start making my way towards Kaius. If i kill him, this is over. Only a bit more fighting, and we can recover peace. For sure, this is not going to be easy, and just as I have the thought, Kaius points his fist to me, and I see a big blue mineral on his ring. The source of his powers, as Laurent gave away. Instead of a book spell like his father, Kaius had a magic mineral in a ring that could make some terrible tricks. My instincts save me the moment I jump to a side out of my path, the same one a blue light beam coming from Kaius’ ring makes its way, piercing bodies. Dead. Kaius just killed three of my soldiers and two of his.

Not easy, indeed. I have to keep jumping from side to side and avoid Kaius’ aim on my army. He not only produces these light beams that pierces one’s body, but he can also produce strange liquid as mixing the light beam with his soldiers's blood. Their blood become crystal blue, and its drops can burn. That is why Kaius is not too much concerned of killing his own soldiers, as he is producing another way to hurt me with their blood. Now there are so many dead, that it is hard to find a place to walk without stepping on this blue blood, and ending up burning my paws. Kaius laughs at me, and I begin to worry. I can’t reach him without burning myself. Perhaps I can use it against him!

I take another deep breath and roar, enough to scare his horse, making the animal lost and shaken, enough to drop down Kaius, and run from me. Behind me, I hear the excitement of my soldiers rise – the reinforcement is here. This is it. Kaius knows it too. He is starting to lose his composure, and uses his ring more desperately. I don’t even care that I am gaining a few burns here and there. Once I reach Kaius, I make him fall to his ass and crush his hand underneath my claw. His scream makes most of the fight stop, little by little all soldiers from either side are looking at me and Kaius.

“Layla will hate you if you kill her brother!” he shouts, and that amuses me.

“No, she won’t,” I say back. “Layla _asked me_ to kill you, Kaius.”

But he has distracted me enough to pull a dagger from his sheath, then Kaius pierces my claw and I flinch away with the pain and a growl. Kaius gets up to his feet, stepping back but still looking at me with his vicious face. He clearly is making up another plan, but before I destroy him right there, a group of people winnow a few feet away, and my heart sinks. Kaius laughs hysterically. Jorum, the commander of one of the Summer camps in Spring Court is here, dropping a badly hurt Feyre to her knee. Beside her, another three of the soldiers that used to be at Jorum’s camp hold onto a badly hurt and angry Nesta; an unconscious Lucien that might die at any moment with so much blood and broken bones fallen to their feet; an equally wounded Azriel, with his wings tied together.

“Layla was not with them,” Jorum announces, and looks around. “She might be here. Tamlin can change anyone’s shape.”

“Layla, Layla, Layla,” Kaius says, shaking his head with amusement. “I should’ve known you would fight with him. You and you illusion of freedom, of being allowed to love. I call on our family bargain, step forward, Layla. Come to me!”

The huge black wolf weaves its way through bloodied soldiers and dead bodies, until it comes to my side. _Change me back,_ Layla asks inside my mind. _Trust me_. I hesitate, but then oblige. Layla assumes her female form and I let her in soldier gown and braided hair. “Release them now and I will go with you!” She tells her brother with a firm voice.

Kaius laughs. “You have no choice, you do what I see fit!”

Layla looks at Jorum and her traitorous soldiers. Without blinking, they turn into drops of blood and pieces of meat. Layla just _misted_ , as Rhysand’s misting! With the gasps and groans and sound of people vomiting around us, I turn to see that Layla misted all our enemies but her brother. He looks horrified. He didn’t know this power. I didn’t, either. I don’t know how I feel about it, about all these death without so much as blinking.

“You bitch!” Kaius’ face contorts in disgust and anger. “You fucking bitch! As a punishment, I call on our bargain so you can do this same think to all of Tamlin’s army!”

My eyes widen and fear overtakes me. I scream, “NO!” And nothing happens.

“You can’t tell me to use this power on them, because it was not part of the bargain, brother.” Layla takes a step closer to him. “Do you remember? When we made the bargain, to control me, since I am strong... You had to be specific. You had to detail all of my powers that would be at your command. Misting was not one of those.” Kaius looks from Layla to me. “Don’t,” she warns. “You may have Tamlin dead if you command me to kill him, but he is not alone, is he? You will lose either way.”

Kaius takes a deep breath. “Whatever, I can still use you. Come to me without a fight, Layla. But if Tamlin or anyone tries to stop you, kill them.”

Before I do anything, Layla winnows to her brother’s side. _Thank you_ , I hear in my mind. _And I must tell you - that was a damn good fuck we had last night!_

Layla finds my eyes. Even with her attempt of humor, there is a punctual goodbye in the blue of her eyes. Just like that, they winnow away from Spring Court, leaving behind Hybern’s dead soldiers, and ghost ships at shore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Fall Out Boy - Phoenix


	14. Chapter 14

Spring Court night sky is beautiful. The beginning of winter doesn’t change much the climate around here, the temperature doesn’t fall so low, enough to make it snow. Still, we usually have to prepare. The slight change affects animals behaviors, they like to sleep more, hidden with their families, and the season fruits grow more slowly. Add the last sixty years or so of problems, including war and lots of death, this winter has come more harsh. Furthermore, we are yet again facing another war.

The northern borders are being attacked constantly by Hybern forces, Kaius’ plans of taking down the Night Court stands strongly. For this exact reason, I have not heard of Rhysand for a couple of days now, even with Feyre here in my court, badly injured. Not to start on how Lucien and Azriel are battling with all their will to survive their wounds.

“I knew Layla was wrong the first time I saw her,” Nesta comes to join me at the porch, holding a ceramic tea cup between her hands, a blanket around her shoulders. There are purple and yellow bruises around her left eye, and a lip cut – the remains of her fight against Jorum and her soldiers, the traitors. “Her eyes were off.”

I am leaning against a pole, tired. Surprised by her coming talk to me. “You were just annoyed that she didn’t flinch seeing your eyes.”

Nesta stares me with a sort of disgust for a second, before taking a sip on her tea. “She is dangerous, Tamlin. Layla might not want to hurt anyone, but she is a weapon. One that Kaius is using to defeat Rhysand, and then he will proceed to take over Prythian. We have to find her, and kill her.”

“This again?”

“You don’t listen! You are a brute and don’t think straight!” Nesta sighs annoyed. “Kaius will use Layla to destroy us, Tamlin. If we take this much power from him, he is going to be easier to defeat. You know that.”

“You are also something dangerous, and you don’t see me trying to kill you just for the sake of it,” I point out. “Yes, Layla has the major problem of having that family bond and she can be controlled like a puppet by Kaius, but as you said, he is using her as a weapon. Take his weapon down, he can just find something else and come after us all the same. Killing Layla won’t necessary help anyone.”

There is no denial that dark thoughts have possessed my mind more than once, about finding Layla and locking her up to protect her from her brother. But I don’t want that, I don’t want to build a cage for her and pretend that it means I am protecting her. Even with Kaius not being the only threat to Layla’s life. Rhysand might think the same as Nesta. By the Cauldron, for all I know, all the High Lords are possibly having the same inclination!

“If not going after Layla to kill her, what then? Do you have any ideas on how taking down King Kaius?” Nesta demands. I grunt and scowl at her. “Whoa, I have no idea what my sister saw in you in the past!”

As my lack of answers annoy Nesta, she thankfully decides to return inside the house and leaves me with my thoughts. My gaze returns to the night sky, and I miss the eyes that look just like that. I make a patrol around my court, check on the villages and find no abnormalities. If I have any idea how to rescue Layla? Fuck, I have none. For all I know, she is fighting Rhysand, and I am avoiding thinking about it, because if I do, if I start weighting the possibilities, I feel hopeless. Should I march up north? I don’t think that taking all my army there will do any good.

The Suriel. I have to find it, and make it talk. It has come to me the other day, so I might catch it easier than normally. I spend hours waiting by a tree with a new coat for the suriel, until suddenly it is morning and I realize I must have slept. Rising and stretching my body, I look around my court, living unaware of terrors that are happening at the other extreme border of Prythian. A hare stops once it meets my gaze, I smell its fear, and growl lowly at it. _Go_ , says my growl, and the hare hops away. Then I see that something is missing. “Fuck!” I swear under my breath. The suriel must have come while I was sleeping, took the coat, and left.

Once back to the manor, I visit Lucien’s chambers, and ask the healer about his condition. What I hear gives me hope about my friend, Lucien might wake up soon. I visit Azriel and have a report on his condition as well, which is also good news. He has already waken up for an hour during the night, asked for what was happening, and then fell back asleep. I walk into a corridor and find Alis closing a guest room’s door. Nesta’s. Alis curtsies to me, and sighs.

“She is really not easy to deal with, Tamlin!” Alis informs me with a scowl.

“How is she?”

“Sleeping now. Nesta was up late, heard that Azriel had waken up and went there talk to him. She is impatient, wants to return to the Night Court. From her angry muttering, I caught that Nesta wants to see her other sister and Cassian.”

“I will make sure to offer bring her other sister here,” I nod to Alis. “After all, this is the furthest from battle, safest for Nesta’s sister. Lucien may feel better that way as well.”

I walk to the next door and Alis joins me to enter Feyre’s chamber. We find Feyre sitting on her bed against the headboard, staring at the window. “The healer was just here,” Alis tells me. “Her broken leg is getting better.” Then to Feyre, “I will be back with a tray of food soon, dear.”

Alis leaves the chamber and I watch Feyre’s eyes go from the closed door to my face.

“Have you heard from him?” I ask. It feels strange wanting to hug Feyre and sooth her pain away. I am back remembering how empty my arms feel, though it is more bearable than it used to be. There was a time I couldn’t see her face without being consumed by rage and loneliness.

“Faintly, yes,” she answers lowly. Feyre is feeling shy. Which is good, I think, better than afraid of me. “He saw Kaius and Layla yesterday, but lost sight of them, no one has seen them ever since.”

“Nesta is worried about Elain. You can bring her here, away from battle.” I risk taking a step closer. “It is safer here, for now.”

“You think?” Feyre arches a brow. “Kaius might be coming after you again, to kill you. Our captors had made it clear that Kaius wanted you dead. Then Spring Court won’t necessary be the safest place.”

“I cannot argue that. Even if I go after him first,” I ponder, “Kaius can try to attack my court just for the sake of hurting me by hurting my people, and I don’t have enough soldiers to guarantee your protection.”

Feyre averts her eyes, quiet for a moment. “I am sorry, Tamlin,” she whispers, and my heart does a shaken beat, as if confused if it feels broken again or mended for the sentiment in her words. Our eyes meet, and I see anguish in hers. Pain, sorrow, guilty. “I am sorry that I turned your people against you.”

“Oh Feyre!” My feet take me to her bed, and I take her hands in mine as I sit at the edge. “I am sorry for so many things. For hurting you, scaring you, then for acting out of my mind and even offending you publicly... I know that I acted like a monster, and I am so sorry for turning your love into hate. I was broken, Feyre, I am sorry that I wasn’t strong enough for you. I am sorry that I couldn’t be your strength, your safety.”

“The way you put it,” her eyes are filled with tears, and I am angry with myself for making her cry. I should leave her alone, let go of these hands. She is not mine. “It is like I was at fault as well.”

“It is not my intention to blame you, Feyre,” I take one of her hands to my cheek, craving for something. It is not exactly for her love. “But if you have not seen it then, I needed you as much as you needed me. And you left me.”

“You made me a prisoner!” Feyre chokes a sob, not rising her voice.

“I did, and I recognize it, and I am terribly sorry!” I squeeze both her hands, still holding one to my cheek. “You left me before that. You left me when you died... Not because you died, sweet girl. But because Rhysand was already in your heart. You were broken down Under the Mountain, and he helped you there. Then when you died and Rhysand held on to your life, there you started leaving me. We returned to Spring Court, Feyre, and instead of keep fighting for us, you held a grudge against me, and left the responsibility to me. Perhaps that was because you wanted your mate and didn’t even know. It is what I have come to think. I had much time to do so.”

We share silent tears, staring at each other while Feyre absorbs my rambling. Telling her everything is like taking out a heavy weight from my chest. “I was afraid, Feyre,” I start again. “My mind was in constant fear that Amarantha was still alive, or that you saving me was just a dream, or that something worse was going to happen because you made me too happy to be real. I should’ve have tried harder, should’ve loved you better. I am sorry I didn’t. So fucking sorry! But I did love you. With all of my broken pieces, with all my breath, I loved you, Feyre!”

“You don’t anymore,” she gives me a weak smile, and I realize what I have just said. Loved, in the past.

“I think part of me will always love you,” I say with a sigh. “Love the brave girl who stood for her family, who gave herself away to protect those who never did the same for her. The sweet Feyre wandering Spring Court, bringing life back to the place. But no, I don’t love you wholly anymore. You are part the girl I knew, but now you have become another Feyre, one that is more like the side of Night Court that I don’t appreciate. And as I said before, I wish for your happiness. Your happiness is not with me.”

“Thank you, Tamlin,” Feyre squeezes my hands, and finally, I let go. Rising to my feet, I rub my face to rid of the tears.

“I will go to Tarquin,” I say. “Talk to him to accept you and your sisters while you have to recover. I am sure he won’t deny the hospitality. Then, I will bring Elain to you, and take the three of you sisters to the Summer Court. May as well take Azriel there, you will all be more comfortable together.”

We lock eyes again. “Thank you,” Feyre says again, as if holding back tears. With my heart so much more alive and light, I nod, and leave the room, ready to end this war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Coldplay - in my place


	15. Chapter 15

Hatred and other sicking feelings made my father loath Rhysand’s father. Their animosity destroyed every possibility of friendship between us boys, when my father manipulated me so he could kill Rhysand and his family. Given this history, the Night Court is not a place I like to visit, nevertheless, here I am. The battle is not far from the spot I had agreed to meet up with Morrigan, who has brought me Elain. The beautiful woman in soldier’s gown, Rhysand’s cousin, and I suppose Layla’s as well. They don’t look alike, maybe the air of arrogance, but Layla is so much more fun than irritable like Morrigan.

“It doesn’t sound good,” I tell her, nodding my head to the battle’s noise. Screams, weapons, explosions.

“We are holding ourselves just fine,” Morrigan shrugs. “You forget Rhysand is powerful. He is a whole army just by himself.”

“I don’t forget, I just know that even powerful as he is, Rhysand can tire and be wounded. Anyhow,” I say more firmly, stopping her before Morrigan starts fighting me. “Feyre, Nesta and Azriel are all safe and sound in Summer Court. I will take Elain, then I will start looking for Kaius. From what Rhysand has told Feyre, the Hybern King is alone with his sister.”

“And you think you have a chance against him?” Morrigan asks mockingly.

“If not to defeat him, at least to separate Kaius from Layla,” I answer unshaken. “Now you have forgotten who I am, Morrigan. It is not like I care, anyways. Are you ready?” I ask Elain.

The women exchange a farewell look, and I winnow Elain to the Summer Court. The Archeron sisters hug each other as soon as we arrive at Tarquin’s home. The man looks troubled, and with a slight nod of his head, I follow him to another chamber. Two guards of his protect the door, giving us privacy, and I miss Layla in her uniform. I miss her, period. Tarquin’s eyes are somber when he speaks. “The second I felt you winnow my court, I felt another. They are here, Tamlin.”

“Where?” My heart jumps, afraid, excited, angry, missing.

“I see you don’t want an army with you,” he takes a shaken breath, clearly as afraid as I am. Though Tarquin is fearing more for is court’s safety, while I am as scared for Prythian’s safety as for Layla’s. “But I will request you to accept my company. I am a High Lord, this is my court. And together, we are stronger.”

I weight his imposition for a moment. Tarquin is right about everything, but coming with me means I will have to worry about his safety as well. No. His eyes meet mine as equal. Tarquin is High Lord, I cannot treat him less. I understand now that my worry is not because I think he is weak and so I have to protect him, but I want to protect him because I see Tarquin as a friend I don’t want to lose.

“Let us go, then. Before they vanish again,” I answer.

Since it is him who knows the location, Tarquin winnows us out of his home to a forest. We walk around in silence, trying to find Kaius and Layla, to hear them somewhere. After a few minutes, I see Tarquin’s brows frown, as if joining pieces together. To answer my questioning look, he says lowly, “we are close to one of my soldiers camp, one of those we made strategically close to the energy slits.”

“You think Kaius is going to open a slit again, bringing malicious faerie to your court,” I conclude. “Go warn your soldiers nearby, and if there is problem, we will be ready. I will try to find them before it happens, I will try to gain some time if it happens.”

Tarquin hesitates, but nods and winnows away by himself. Carefully to no be spotted before I find them, I keep walking around the forest, sniffing to try and capture Layla’s scent. A kind cool breeze brings it to me, filling my lungs and heart. Hope swims through my veins, of having my good friend back. Layla has become a necessity in my life, allowing me to depend on her as she trusts me, she makes me feel important to her as she is to me. Even scarred by life, Layla’s laughter can be contagious and bright. She is real, and I cannot lose her. I must fight to have her back, and I will not lose!

Consumed by this power in me, the desire to protect and save Layla take every inch of me, making me confident, focused. Finally, I find them. My confidence waves at the sight. Layla is on her knees, holding her head as if it is going to explode in so much pain, her agony written over her scrunched face, tears and snot running down. Kaius is standing next to her, watching with a cocked head, pure interest. It doesn’t look like they were fighting, so I assume he gave her an order. Was it to hurt herself for the pleasure of it?

No. I feel it now. The energy change, as if the air is charged, and it actually is. Looking around I can see voltaic arches, the buzzing growing louder as the magic happens and I know that Layla is opening the closest slits. I know she is opening more than one at once, and I know that the creatures that she is wakening are not just the weak type. First I feel it in my guts, then in my skin, and last I hear them coming.

Taking advantage of Kaius state of concentration as his distraction, I surprise him with my attack, assuming my beast form immediately as I jump onto him. The man struggles between my claws, he manages to use his magic to burn my forearm, and roll aside as I roar with the anger. Kaius stands up a few feet away from me, laughing in hysterics, a mad man.

“You can’t save her, she is gone!” he laughs.

“I just have to kill you,” I growl at him, but glance at Layla despite my anger, worried with her state. She doesn’t look like she has noticed me here, the intensity of her pain is almost palpable.

“It still wouldn’t work,” Kaius stares me with a malicious satisfied smile, and I show him my fangs. “Her mind is fried under her own power, and you are going to die knowing that even with your death, you couldn’t protect her.”

No, he is wrong. Layla is still alive, I can see it, she is strong! I will not lose her!

His light beam almost hit me, but I find in me the will to concentrate on this fight before going to Layla. If I break their bargain by his death, Layla will come back to her senses, she will come back to me. It is just me and the King, no soldiers to protect, no soldiers he can use against me. He is a tricky man, avoiding getting closer to me. Kaius uses his magic to burn more of my skin, to cut me. Some of his attempts misses me but hits the trees around, and a fire starts. I look at Layla, and now there is blood coming out of her snotty nose.

Just as I am trying to dodge every magical attack, Kaius manages to avoid most of my use of the air. I try to throw focused, strong wind towards him, a blast of air, and his magic deflects it. Forcing myself into a higher jump, Kaius almost hit me mid air before I change my path and fail yet again to have him under my claws. Time is getting critical, I feel it in my bones, I feel Layla’s magic growing out of her and I am scared for her mind. Taken by panic and need of her, I advance towards Kaius growling at him.

Fear starts appearing on his features and stinky smell. He aims and hits me, but his laughter dies as he sees that I don’t back down, that I didn’t avoid the hit because it made me closer to him. Desperate, Kaius tries to hit me with stronger magic, even if it drains him, and he looks paler, as if the magic is sucking out his life. The pain doesn’t shake me, I need Layla, I need to reach her, and I need Kaius dead. When I jump onto him again, I do not miss his body, and feel pleasure in cutting his skin open. With my mouth, I rip both his arms from his body, and relish on his painful scream.

“Stop her,” I growl at him. “Make her stop, and I will let you die.”

“You can’t save her!” Kaius laughs between cries. “I told you, her brain is fried. Layla can’t hear my commands anymore.”

“So you are useless now.” I smash his torso with the weigh of my claw, and Kaius is dead.

There is no time to feel relief in his death, I run to Layla, changing my shape to have her in my arms, but I am surprised by her force, as if an invisible force is pushing me away. The fire will take us if I don’t winnow us away, my wounds are burning in pain and I am half conscious that I may not be able to winnow us away after all. “Layla!” I scream, taking each step closer with all of my strength.

Falling to my knees, I finally reach her, and hug her. But I can’t winnow. Not because of being weak, but somehow Layla is blocking my magic. I feel the energy coming out of her, and fear that she is like a bomb, that she is about to really explode at any moment and the power of it can possibly take down all Summer Court with her. We will die with the fire, or we will die by Layla’s power.

“I am with you,” I tell her, placing my forehead against hers. “I am with you, Layla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Lifehouse - everything


	16. Chapter 16

The heat and smoke are making it harder to breathe. The pressure in my head is insane, I keep feeling as if I am passing out and coming back conscious, dizzy. Barely aware, I hear noise, shouts. Tarquin and his soldiers are fighting a bogge, and maybe Tarquin is ceasing the fire. I am not sure. I might be hallucinating. I just know that I am repeating, “I am with you, Layla. I am with you.”

In these waves of conscious and unconscious, I hear so much noise that become voices, and the voices become a memory. _Remember this, High Lord. Remember that I told you so. You won’t need to use your mouth, you just have to remember what was not a lie_. What was not a lie. I remember Layla’s laughter. I love her laughter. I remember her night sky eyes, the wisdom in them. I remember the mischief in her voice, her curves and her scent. Jasmine and daylight.

It feels another place, it feels like I am in a meadow, but it is all hazy, and as if I am under the water. Sounds muffled, everything blurry. Bit by bit, Layla becomes clear. “You are inside my head, you have broken my defenses,” I understand. “It must mean that you are killing me.”

“I am.”

Layla is wearing a light green dress. It is loose, free. I smile, because she _is_ free now. “My eye’s color look good on you. My eyes on you feel good, as well.”

“Flirting with me won’t save your life, sweet Tamlin,” Layla croons with a smile. “Nice try.”

“You are inside my head, let me show you a few things.”

So I do. I show Layla glimpses of my memory with her, of her. Since the first time I have seen her, afraid of the bogge she herself had freed from the energy slit, to my very first inappropriate thought of her, not much longer after, when I woke up and really looked at her even if Layla was flirting with Azriel. I show her how much good she made me, how thankful I felt at every moment, for being my friend. I could have tried to show her more of my confusing thoughts and feelings about her, but I wish Layla would give us more time. So even knowing we are dying, I try a last resource. I remember then the night at Tarquin’s party, when she asked me to be free. I remember when she took my offer to try and live again in the dungeons of my manor in Spring Court.

“We could die now, Layla,” we are back to the meadow, I am holding her hand. “or you could give us another chance to live.”

“I don’t know how.” She shakes her head, a sad look in her beautiful eyes. I stroke her cheek, just to feel her. “I can’t, Tamlin.”

“You can. You came to my head to escape yours. Your brother is dead, Layla. You are free.” I brush my mouth over hers, and she sighs. “I am with you.”

“I can’t control my mind on my own. There is too much power.” Layla tells to my lips.

“Beautiful Layla, it is your own power. Accept it, embrace it. It is yours to own. Just because you are powerful, doesn’t mean you are wrong to exist. Use your freedom to choose what you do with what you have. But do so alive, with me.”

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” she whispers, fearing my answer, fearing I am going to lie.

“I am afraid of losing you. Of your power? I kind of find it arousing that you are this powerful.” I kiss her, not allowing her to answer.

I feel the time ending, and if she is choosing to let us die, I’d rather die with her taste in my mouth than arguing about her sanity or how scary either of us are. It is sad to end, because I want her in my arms. It is sad because I won’t hear her laughter again, or mock her snotty nose, or make her skin heat under my fingertips. It is sad, because I fell in love with her, and we won’t be able to live it.

Was death supposed to be this painful? My muscles are tense and throbbing in agonizing pain, as does my head. Covered in sweat, with heavy chest and difficulty in breathing. This is like in my dead state. Is like this for eternity? Being dead is unpleasant. Inconvenient, I’d say as well, since I want to know what happened to Prythian, and I cannot know. Perhaps I should start creating a theory, a long story to pass time. I always thought that at the end there would be Peace, a sense of freedom. I thought I wouldn’t be able to think anymore, because there would not be a conscious to think. It is uncomfortable, I must say. I do not like it. Is Layla feeling the same? Dead, with her own thoughts to hunt her? She must hate me for not insisting more on making her live, if she is there in her own thoughts. Besides being in pain. _Shit_ , Is she in pain? Is she suffering? I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I didn’t save Layla and she is suffering. Being dead hurts. Layla is hurting. I can’t, I can’t-

“He is having another panic attack,” a distant voice echoes.

“Tamlin, can you hear me?” someone asks. “Tamlin, you have to breathe slowly!”

“Give him the herbs!” Someone shouts.

I feel something pressed to my nose, my mind goes light and I am nothing.

.

.

.

My mouth is dry, my lips cracked. I feel thirsty, why?

.

.

.

I feel Layla’s hand caressing me. Good, even dead I can recall her touch. It feels warm, soft, caring.

.

.

.

There is an itchy in my left arm, and I cannot reach it to scratch. It is annoying.

.

.

.

I hear Layla sobbing quietly nearby. Does it mean that in death I have some kind of perception of what she is going through? I want to be with her, I want to easy her pain. My effort to reach out is pointless, as my body feels detached to my brain. Which leaves me to my wishes. _Please, Layla. Don't be sad. Don't be in pain. You are beautiful, inside out, and I only want your happiness. Do not be sad if I cannot be there with you. Please, be braver and make your heart feel peace._ Strangely, I feel as if Layla has heard me, as if she came closer, as if she is now laying down with me, cuddling. Did my feelings reach her? If so... I want her to know. _My heart is yours, Layla. It was already yours long before we died._

.

.

.

“Sometimes I feel his mind back,” I hear Layla’s sad voice. I don’t like that she is sad again.

“He is strong, he just needs time,” Lucien says. “His body has recovered.”

“He said he would be with me,” Layla holds my hand. “It has been months!”

“I know, Layla.” Lucien’s voice cracks. “I am going to fetch you some food, you need to eat.”

Footsteps. A door open and closes.

Layla’s soft lips brush my now clean forehead. She whispers, “hey Tamlin, I am with you. I am waiting for you right here. Come back to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Matt Maeson - Dancing after death


	17. Chapter 17

Jasmine and daylight calm me down. I feel Layla’s body against mine, warm, alive, sleeping. We didn’t die. It is night time, the moon light entering my bed chamber from the open window. With the breeze comes a little magic. I know which night it is tonight. Rising to my feet without waking her up, I test my body. Weak, less muscles, thinner. Flexing my fingers I look around, hearing not too far the sound of my people and the drums, carrying on with their lives. I am glad for them, I am glad they are well enough to revel.

Instincts make my feet move, then run. I am a beast hunting through my court, magic pulsing in my veins, making my sight better, my nose better – all my senses better. Being hungry helps, it is easier to find my prey. I kill it fast and clean, bring it to the revel on my back. My people almost stop the festivities as they see me, but the surprised noises transform into happy ones. Cries and laughter, glad to see their High Lord back to life. Lucien parts the people, approaching me with mixed feelings in his eyes. I let the white stag before him, and rise as a male Fae, using light magic to at least wear trousers, not realizing how much weight I have lost, the waistband falls too low, but I don't care enough to use more magic to adjust the size. “Where you going to perform the Great Rite in my place again, my friend?” I ask.

His eyes shine with happiness, holding back tears of joy. He answers, “I am not from your court, I couldn’t take your place tonight. It is Uri, your sentinels' commander who assumed the task.”

At the mention of his name, the tall and large man steps closer. His bare torso painted in gold drawings, his short blond hair under a vine crown with flowers. “I was about to go hunt the stag, Tamlin,” he tells me with a welcoming smile. “Glad you are up!”

He gestures to a couple of men help him carry the stag away, where they will use every bit of it to cook and feed the people as part of the ritual. We always get hungry after the Calanmai magic fills us, and the white stag is the magical being to first feed our bellies, giving the welcome beginning to spring. The magic in me pulsing with life makes me turn to each female watching me. I don’t want them.

“Are you sure you want to be here right now?” Lucien asks me lowly, so only I can hear him. “You can still let Uri perform the task.”

“I don’t know. I woke up and followed instincts. I didn’t think. I am still confused,” I confess. “It appears that I have been gone through the whole winter, thinking I was dead while my people needed me. As High Lord, I feel ashamed. Tonight the magic has awaken me, but even taken by it, I don’t want to complete the Great Rite with just anyone. There is conflict inside me, I won’t allow the magic choose someone in this public.”

Lucien is not surprised. “You love her,” he says in understanding. “Mind I tell you, Tamlin, you didn’t fail your people. You saved us all by killing Kaius, you saved a lot of people by saving Layla. You needed to rest and recover, your people and friends believed in you, so do not feel ashamed at all.”

My heart fills with aching happiness by his words, so I only give Lucien a nod, which makes him laugh and bring me into a tight embrace. Lucien leads me to the people, where I find myself in more arms and warm smiles. When I feel her scent, I tense, and growl, making everyone still.

“You left me,” Layla says shakily, and I turn slowly to meet her.

My legs fail me, making me stumble back to steady myself. Beautiful. She is wearing the brown nightgown that I have left her with in bed. It is long, a light fabric kissing her skin, a kind cleavage. The straps are asking my fingers to hook them down, her nipples making hard marks, inviting, as if begging for my mouth. Bare feet as I am. _I want her._ “It is not safe to be around me tonight,” my voice is hoarse. _I want you_.

_Do you?_ She says in my mind and her intimate voice sends a lightning heat straight down my body, so I growl again.

Layla’s eyes don’t leave mine while her voice echoes through everyone’s mind, a command to get back the drums, keep the revel going. The music returns and someone brings Layla the golden paint while a woman places a crown of flowers over my head. As Layla approaches me, my desire for her pressing against my dark brown trousers. Layla takes the paint basin with a hand, dipping her other hand into the paint. I watch her with a cocked head. My thundering heart crying out of happiness, finally putting pieces together, assimilating what I have been through. Layla has chosen to live once again, she has chosen to live with me in that split second when my mind was consumed by the intensity of her power out of her control. In that choice, she saved us all.

_No_ , she says into my mind. _You saved us all. And all it took was your strong heart, Tamlin. Your love for your people, and how deep you care for me. You showed it all to me, that is how you saved us._ Her words feeling like a caress to all of me. The naked truth of her thoughts and feelings making it easier for me to believe it, albeit astonished. The first contact to my skin is like a burnt of pleasure, making me groan. I hear people around me gasp, they are under the effect of my own lust. As Layla coats my chest with random drawings, her eyes are still locked with mine, occasionally slipping to my mouth as I am licking my lips; her own are parted.

Desperate to take her, but I do not move out of place, just shiver under her touch. Layla is being deliberate slow, my eyes are heavy. _I want you_. She smirks, and I bite my lip. Walking around me, marking my back with her fingertips, Layla chooses to press harder, nails digging my skin. _I want you_. She sighs and I start panting. Her fingers go tormenting lower my navel, and I moan loudly. _Yes, please Layla_. She is not smirking anymore, Layla is taken by desire, she wants me badly as well. I take the basin of paint out of her and stand it away for someone to take it. With my free hands, I take Layla in my arms, carrying her up the hill, the people following us, drunk in our scent of desire, dancing and talking and laughing. There is a bed of leaves and flowers inside the cave, torches light up the place.

As I place her down, my hands roam the fabric of her gown. “I want you,” I say aloud.

“Take me,” she answers, a dare, a command.

People around us moan under my pleasure, they are almost as eager as I am. Using magic, I make our clothes disappear, and kiss her. Deeply, starving for these full lips. Layla kisses me back with the same intensity. For months she had to face the world without me, for months she has waited, and I feel her pain and her happiness in these kiss. We lay on the bed without stopping the kisses, the brushes of tongues, the wet sounds. She came back to me, Layla gave me another chance to live and she is here with me. Our hands are everywhere, kneading, exploring, feeling real. Her delicious ass feel so right under my hands. The magic is strong, it wants to be rough, it wants to posses, but I want more than that, I want to love her.

Layla reaches down between us, her fingers wrap around my length and I almost lose control to the bliss, hissing. She guides me, and the pleasure as I enter Layla is blinding hot. I can hear someone lose it, I can hear they start their own intercourse. But they don’t matter now. Layla’s noises are all the sounds that I need, and she is moaning to me, oh so good. She feels so good, so right and real. So I love her. Thrusting, claiming these sweet nipples into my mouth as she tugs my hair and spread her legs wider each side of me to the air. Layla swirls her hips, asking me to go harder and I oblige, stopping my kisses on her breast to look at her face, and what a face! Lips swelled screaming my name, eyes rolling back. I am undoing her, Layla has captivated me and now I am pleasuring her. This is filling my heart, my whole. I am hers. _I am yours_.

_Mine_ , she answers back in a satisfying growl, and I lose it. With a roar, I fuck and love her and we reach the edge together. _Mine mine mine_ , she repeats in my head as now she can only scream wordlessly, shivering under my own trembling. I start kissing her more slowly, recovering my breath, her legs going down, relaxing. Layla smiles against my mouth, hugging me. “I think we may have caused some damage to your court,” she says softly.

I take a glance around, seeing my people spread all over each other, falling asleep right there or looking at nothing specific with dreamy eyes. “I think it was a healthy event,” I kiss Layla again.

“Welcome back, Tamlin.”

“It is good to be back. It is good to be back to you, Layla.” And I start making love to her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Michael Bublé - Feeling good


	18. Chapter 18

Calanmai's festivities were a couple of days ago, and we are already collecting the Great Rite’s consequences. Spring Court is starting to look more beautiful than... By the Cauldron, it looks prettier than from when I was a child! There are life and colors everywhere, a nice blue sky with a few clouds, good temperature – not too warm, not too cold. In a cycle, I feel like my court feeds from me, while I feed from it. The magic, the breathing, my home. I am running, visiting the villages that are finally safe. My people are smiling, among themselves and at me, and I feel their fondness towards me. Their High Lord. We did this, we managed to survive way too many bad times to be here today, together.

I no longer need Summer Court’s help with patrols, since there are no imminent threats, my soldiers are enough. Houses and Market are back in action, everyone is learning to have a life, a day at a time. Families are reunited, children are playing free. The mansion is hectic, but not chaotic. Happiness is clear on my people’s faces, and it warms my heart. Half the way to my study I have to help someone carrying new books to the library; I receive a quick report about the borders with Autumn Court, and the rumors about Eris Vanserra building alliances with the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court; there is a list of food from different farms given to me so I can take a look at in my study; and someone tells me that I had received a few letters that were left in my study.

I find Lucien sitting by my desk, talking with Layla. What I catch from the conversation, it is about a reunion between representatives from the villages. I like this system they built while I was unconscious, where the villages together help decide what is best for people, what is needed. I join the conversation, and it appears the next meeting is going to be tomorrow, where they had planned to discuss about taxes and the tithe. Lucien gives me a concerned look, but we’ve been through this before. It was not pretty.

“I plan on sitting and going through our laws,” I tell them. “They are far too old and need to be more consistent with what we live today, with what I want to be as High Lord. With the discussion and hearing my people’s voice, I imagine I can make good changes and hope to find a middle to settle and keep a more just court.”

“I am so proud of you, my friend!” Lucien places a hand on my shoulder, smile genuine. I smile back. “And so happy, I hope you know it.”

“I do, thank you Lucien. Truly.”

He nods, and start the talk that I knew would come. “I have to leave, I have been here long enough. Elain is talking more to me, it is still weird, we still don’t know how to deal with each other, so Feyre is placing me into an assignment with Elain, have more time together.” Lucien shrugs. “But I will write you, and be back at some point.”

“You are always welcome here,” I give him a hug. “May you find happiness, either with your mate, with the Bird woman, or with someone else!”

Lucien hugs Layla and Exchange a few more words before leaving us, closing the door behind him.

"How are you feeling?" Layla asks me, placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Brilliant, really! I feel like I belong. Spring Court is scarred, we saw many terrors. But I believe we are going to recover fully, we just have to be patient." I nuzzle my nose on her neck. I love her scent. "And you?" I find Layla's eyes, "how are you feeling?"

"To tell you the truth, sometimes I feel scared of allowing me this much happiness. As if I do so, definitely there is going to be something bad to face again and I shall lose my freedom, or you." Her smile is sheepishly, and I squeeze her waist lightly, reassuring her that I am here. "But I am happy, Tamlin. Like you said, I have to be patient, let the scars heal at their own pace."

"I talked to Tarquin," I tell her, and give a kiss to her soft cheek before meeting her eyes again. "going over all your story again. He said that it was better for you to be at my court, until things calm down. Not everyone can be as understanding about where you come from. I also praised him for dealing with the bogge and saving us from the fire that time. Tarquin is now strong in the eyes of his people, and a true friend."

"I am happy for you, Tamlin!" Layla kisses me softly. "Now, do you want me to take a specific place in your court? Like a servant, or teach the kids to fight?"

My first thought is that I just want Layla by my side. But I don't say it, even knowing she can hear me thinking. Instead, after another kiss, I say, "What do you want to work with?"

"My, Tamlin! Is this how you interview people for work in Spring Court?" She gives me a light slap on the shoulder, making me chuckle. "I would love to help you with your responsibilities, by your side. If you allow me, and want my help, I'd be honored. We can talk more specifics, set boundaries, but one thing that I'd like to ask is that you let me make patrols with you. I really enjoyed running with you, hunting with you..."

My heart is overwhelmed again.

"I love you, Layla." I blurt without thinking, then realize what I just did, take a deep breath and try to convey it with my eyes as I say it again. "I love you."

Layla's lips curl, she is blushing and the tears escape her eyes. For a moment, I feel panic. Have I said too soon? Does she not love me the way I love her? It could be it, she may think of me as a friend and I just ruined it. Then Layla's hand cup my cheek, her thumb caressing me. "I am just scared. I told you, it is so much happiness, that I feel scared. Tamlin, I love you! Of course I love you, and I want you!" The hug Layla gives me feels like home.

I need to feel her, I need to reassure her that we are fine, that there is nothing to fear right now. So I kiss Layla, my hands roaming her body without restrain. My mouth etching her skin with my love, leaving goose bumps on its wake. The drums of our happy hearts loud, alive. On Calanmai's night I gave myself whole to Layla, but now I feel this animal possessiveness, that I love her, and want Layla only to be mine. And I take her. The hard nipples on my tongue make me shiver in pleasure, and I bite her, making Layla moan. In a second, I lift her dress, up, away from her body. 

"Beautiful," I tell Layla, my voice husk. 

She smiles the most warming smile, one that contains fondness and desire. As I am Licking her lips, my hands grope Layla's full ass, hard enough to leave bruises, but I know she likes it as she arches her back and moves her hips, pressing more of her ass against my hands. I take her thighs up my waist, and carry Layla to my desk. One of her hands making a fist of my hair, pulling and making me groan approvingly. The other one claws my back. With my magic, my clothes are gone in an instant, making Layla smirk against my kisses. She bites my jaw, my earlobe. There is a part of me that wants to live in this moment forever, drowning in her scent, burning in this love. But there is something taking over my heart, not to be locked in this one moment, but desperate to live a life with Layla, to make her laugh that incredible laughter, to run over Spring Court with her, sparring and making love by a waterfall. I give her neck my love, with open mouthed kisses and possessive bites. My hands kneading her thighs, as my mouth goes lower to her nipples, to her belly, grazing. Layla is panting, she meets my eyes briefly, feeling too much to keep them open. 

I kneel before my love, biting the way inside her thighs until I meet her center, giving a long, nice lick. " _mine_!" I growl at her, and ravish, and moan at her taste, at her sounds. Kissing Layla all my feelings, all my desire and passion, all my happiness. Giving Layla all the certainty that we are alive, that I am here with her. Until she is moving her hips, holding my head in place. _Yes, Layla. Mine!_ And she lets a strangled moan escape her sweet lips as she goes through her edge. I don't give Layla time to recover, my aching desire squeezing my low stomach, pulsing in my length. So quickly, I am buried inside Layla.

" _Fuck!_ " She feels really good. So soft, so warm, so slippery, all ready for me. 

The desk start making noises as I fuck Layla, but I cannot care less if anyone is going to listen. I am burning, my love consuming me, taking control over me. I can't slow down, in fact, I want to go faster, harder, deeper. "I love you, Layla," I groan and growl. "Fuck, I love you!"

"Tamlin!" She moans, and my name in her mouth is a delicious pray. 

We reach our climax, both panting, both grunting and moaning loudly. With a few more thrusts, I kiss Layla, chanting how much I love her, how beautiful she is, how she is mine and I am hers. Covered in sweat, satisfied, I kiss her tenderly. 

"If you feel insecure and scared, please let me be with you," I ask. 

"You too," we rest our foreheads together, recovering our breath. "Let me be part of your life, either through tough moments and through the happy ones. I am with you."

"I am with you," I repeat in agreement. 

I could get used to this new life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood: Mcfly - Love is easy
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your kudos <3  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this story!


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